Blood Leprechaun
by J CAE
Summary: Sylvanas's quest to destroy Ner'zhul began with a fabricated tale. It will now end with a lie that has gone far enough to become a part of truth. Sequel to 'Ranger General'.
1. Prologue

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE ADDED ****NOVEMBER 4, 2004**

Your author is trying to graduate from university and is struggling to get her homework done--getting **World of Warcraft** will undoubtedly lead to her dropout, so she won't be doing that. This story will be set in an alternate universe , post TFT . She wishes to apologize in advance for her lack of knowledge in the ** WOW **storyline. She welcomes correction if her fic is ridiculously inconsistent with the canon--but if you flame, and she will simply assume that you have no idea what a FANFICTION is.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE, AS OF ****MARCH 28, 2004**

This is the **direct sequel** to **RANGER GENERAL**. It's not intended as a standalone, so I guess it'll be easier to understand it if you read **RG** first. Please?

**DISCLAIMER**: Every recognizable character, race etc belongs to Blizzard.

**POLICY:** Reviews are very welcome, and gee, thanks!! I will respond to you individually at the end of the next chapter. I'm open to criticisms as well, but I will not tolerate groundless insults--flames will be ignored.

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**PROLOGUE******

**_Leprechaun_**_: le-pri-kon n, mischievous sprite in Irish folklore._

**_Blood leprechaun_**_: cruel spirit with the face of a cherub that takes pleasure in bloodbath and delights in another's pain._

* * *

Khecomo Wingowl had always taken much pride in his keen eyesight, but that evening thirteen years after the Dark Lady sailed for the western continents of Kalimdor, it was the first time he ever knew what '_not believe in one's eyes' _meant.

He patted his dragonhawk and tried to keep it from making any noise. But it seemed to have sensed its rider's fears and began to panic.

Below them were the torches of an invading army, their dark emblems flying in the dimming sky--he counted heads of approximately seventeen hundred. But numbers, he knew, was not an issue to his opponent. He heard she could turn ten men into a hundred with her telepathy. How vast could her powers be down there?

He whirled his mount around and flew as swiftly as the hawk's wings could carry him, back to Quel'dara, the lonely home of the Blood Elves. He knew he was a good sixteen miles away from King Kael'thas and the castle, yet he knew he must make it.

The smell of things burning intensified and he risked a glance back--and he gasped. The forest was set on fire!

Smoke and soot billowed from the canopies and blew into his face, making his eyes sting and nose run. But he could not afford to worry about those things. He must make it in time to his king. Urging his stallion to fly faster, he managed to escape from their sight and headed to the heart of the elven city.

It was dark when he arrived. Guards at the castle gates blocked his path, but he pushed them out of the way.

"Stand there!" the guards tried to retain him. "You can't just go in. You need to present a letter to see the king."

"To hell with the letter," he yelled without turning back. "We're under attack!"

"Under attack?" the guards cried aloud in shock. "But it's impossible..."

_Oh, but it was possible._

Quel'dara was concealed behind miles of lush trees, protected by the enchanted energies of Mother Nature. For one who did not know the geography of the land would have trouble finding the hidden city if at all--but the invader was no stranger. Rather, she was someone they knew too well.

Khec raced down the hallway to the throne room. He had only been inside the huge mazelike castle once, and yet he somehow managed to find his way to the throne room. More guards barred his way, and he just shouted through the doors, "Milord! We're under attack! The treacherous woman has returned!"

"Be quiet, you ragged beggar!" from his soiled clothes and his blacked face, the guards could not see that he was a border patrol and not a crazed pauper and shoved him aside.

But the heavy mahogany doors flew open, and he was let into the throne chamber before King Kael'thas and the high council who were in the middle of the meeting.

"Milord, it is the Dark Lady!"

The king stood up from his high throne and regarded the scruffy dragonhawk rider with anxiety etched in his face. "Are you certain?"

"Absolutely," Khec answered, forgetting to bow--but Kael did not seem to notice. "She still has that wretched dreadlord with her."

"Are you sure she is hostile?" Kael rephrased his question.

Khec heard the rumours that Kael had a thing with the Dark Lady before she left, which might explain his reluctance to believe. But the rider only said, "She's setting the forests on fire, milord. We must send out an army to stop her before she gets any further inside."

"I will send men to parley with her," Kael cast a glance at his high council. "General Iria."

The shrewd but young ranger general stood and saluted him, "Your will, your majesty?"

"Ask Sylvanas to come in and talk to me. She must come alone."

"Aye, your majesty," she turned to leave. But just before she passed Khec she heard the rider speak and paused.

"Milord, you're sending Iria to her certain death. If Sylvanas wanted to talk, she would have just come in and talk. You know her better than the rest of us. She wouldn't have to burn the forest to _get attention_."

Young Iria bit her lips. Though she hated to think that she would be in any mortal danger, she believed Khec was right. Thirteen years had passed and the Dark Lady was without a trace. If she could return this day and burn the forests, there was no telling what she had in mind.

"Spare Iria," Khec spoke again. "You will have need of her on the battlefield. I will go in her place."

"But..." though Iria was grateful to Khec for offering to take her place, it was still a task her lord entrusted to her. If she shrank back from it, she would...

"All right," Kael nodded slowly, "Stay, Iria." It seemed that he was finally beginning to accept that the woman in whom he once placed his complete trust had turned her back on him and came back to remove him from his throne--or from this world. "Rider, what is your name?"

"Khecomo Wingowl, milord," Khec replied. "I'm on my way."

* * *

Khec flew back to the devastated outskirts. The flames had already migrated deeper in to the forest, but it would still take a while to reach Quel'dara. He cautiously ventured near the Forsaken army, located the Dark Lady, and lowered his lance in the elven courtesy to demand a peace talk.

The crypt fiends were ready to ensnare him to the ground and he said his prayers out loud to the Highest Light. But Sylvanas Windrunner stepped forward and raised her hand in the signal of peace. He noticed that she was hooded and veiled and she never once looked up at him--he wondered why. It was not her nature to be so...humble.

"Sylvanas Windrunner," Khec did not get off his mount as he should have when parleying with the opponent. He dared not, for he knew he would be a dead man the moment he did so. On his dragonhawk, he might yet have a chance to escape.

The Dark Lady did not speak. Instead, a dark-haired sorceress by her side spoke, "You will now address our lady as the Queen of the Forsaken."

Khecomo raised his brow. He was certain the sorceress was living and robed in outlandish fashion. No doubt she was a very powerful sorceress--and he could smell raw magic about her.

"All right, _Queen of the Forsaken_," he could do nothing about the sarcasm in his tone. "Our king wishes to speak with you. He invites you to come into his castle--but you must go alone."

"I know what it is that Kael wants," the Queen finally spoke, her voice as cold as the winter's chill down Khec's spine. "I only wish to bring one other with me. I know he'd agree."

Khec sighed--if his speculation was accurate, it would have to be the sorceress. He could not concur--for she would be a threat to his king's safety. Yet Sylvanas sounded so sure about Kael's decision...

Khec made no promise, and only led them to the castle.

* * *

"Sylvanas!"

Kael, indeed, as the Queen of the Forsaken suggested, agreed to let her bring the sorceress with her. He emptied the throne chamber, leaving only Iria and two guards at his side, _just in case_.

He was surprised as the familiar figure strolled into his hall with every inch of her skin concealed behind black garments--only her eyes remained unshielded, and there was something different about them...

Yes. Her once blue eyes had become a dull shade of grey. And he was suddenly worried. Was this really Sylvanas? Or was this just some fraud?

"Show yourself to me! Why do you..."

But the voice was definitely hers, "I just thought you might not want to see."

"What do you mean?"

Slowly, she removed her hood. Long silver curls fell over her shoulders.

"My queen..."

Kael was hardly aware of the sorceress's presence until she spoke up.

But Sylvanas chose to ignore her and reached to remove her veil.

He gasped as he stared at a figure bleached to deathlike white.

Her face was devoid of emotion and life as she studied his reaction calmly.

"Sylvanas...what happened? Why...why are you like this?"

"Sylvanas Windrunner had died completely," replied the stranger before his eyes.

Gone was the woman who had once been so willful and spirited. Left behind was an empty shell that refused to give in. Still it walked, still it fought for a cause so distant she could not even recall. But the need to destroy was far greater than any sense she had left.

She terrified him.

"But why..."

"It is Ner'zhul. He killed me again."

His heart wrenched painfully. He should have seen it coming. He should have stopped her from throwing herself away. "Tell me everything..."

"He destroyed me, and now I **_am_** him!"

* * *

**J Report**:

Hello people!!! Been a while since I uploaded here. My account had been suspended and unsuspended for some strange reason, and my computer has been down for the third time in the last two months because of a problematic motherboard--whatever that means. I'm still working on '**Listen**'. I'm also currently writing a StarCraft thing titled '**Infested**', though I have absolutely no idea what I'm gonna do in that. Been replaying StarCraft again, but my computer doesn't really like the game and keeps on crashing. So stupid. Anyway, thanks for reading.

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**A 'Thank You' note to** **people who reviewed ****Ranger General's ****f****inal ****c****hapter:**

**Demongod86**: Thanks. Of course Illidan couldn't die or else what could I do in the sequel? That warden who tortured Illidan is Maiev, true. He knocked her out, yes, but I didn't say THAT happened (grins evilly--what's THAT anyway?!). You got close about Leprecha, but to your great disappointment, she is NOT Maiev. She is an original character.

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**Rowan Seven**: Oh no...if Naga lay eggs, how would that VxK thing go?? (has a mental image of Vashj with her tail coiling protectively around her egg: "Nobody touch!")...Anyhow, thanks for all your comments. I really do appreciate your reviews. You should have seen my original draft. I didn't even get as far as this Nerz vs. everybody scene and ended just with Syl sailing away. But I decided against it and instead made up a sequel, even if it means I'd hafta venture a bit into the WOW storyline (I don't think I'll be getting the game though cuz I won't have time to play it anyway). But I promise you Blood Leprechaun will have a more 'final' conclusion, just cuz it will be the final instalment in the RG series, and probably my final War fic as well. Of course, I will complete what I've started with e.g. **Listen, To Honour, Maiev** etc, but I'll be trying to find something else to get obssessed with. You might find the answers to some of your questions in the sequel, actually, especially regarding Maiev and Illie-dan (oops, there is no 'e' in his name). Vashj was, in a way, **_my_** deus ex machina, and she returned to solve **_my_** problems...point taken though. Must admit that you're right, and I didn't focus too much on the _epic battle _itself--that was too much for me to handle, and my poorly wired brain kind of had an imaginative-overload. Sor/ree. Why should Nerz desire Kael's service in undeath? That's because Nerz wants everything and everyone dead or undead--and I'm working on a more unknown and (gasp cough wheez) twisted side in him...but I heard you scream for NerzxSyl somewhere in your review of Chapter 6. Poor Varimathras. Even though I don't really like him in the canon, he's a good character.

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**San**: You can't kidnap Kael yet, cuz I still need him for this story, and 'Test of the Princes'. But I'll let you have him after, okay?!...

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**Anouymous**: Thanks. Heh, I know--it took me a few tries to spell leprechaun right. I thought of titling it Blood Sprite, but that didn't sound weird enough. You REALLY want Maiev and Illidan to go together? REALLY?

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**Wolfarine**: Sorry, my bad. Would you forgive me??? OMG, you can make campaigns? All that time and patience...jeez. I have a b-net account too, but I haven't been on since I lost my first battle 2 years ago. I never win my brother when we LAN either (IMO he desperately needs to get a life (snickers)). So frustrating. Anyhow, I really appreciate your support, and I'm glad I inspired you to make a SylxKael campaign.

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**Queen of the Harpies**: Thanks!! That thing Nerz said is my favourite line too!! though I suppose a writer shouldn't be choosing among her children...anyhow, don't worry, you didn't miss anything. I just haven't said everything **yet**. ArthasxSyl, I personally still can't accept it. NerzxSyl is a different story though, as you know I'm a Nerz fan but NOT an Arth fan it's just too bad they had to merge--Ar'zhul is probably not the only one with multiple personality disorder.

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**GG Crono 4**: Thanks for your support! Can't tell you how grateful I am.

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**wingchumonZERO**: Thanks so much all the same. 


	2. Poisoned

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**_A/N_**_: Long time no see, long time no me!!! My finals are OVER and my summer break has just begun!!! (Ah well, to hell with summer semester which will begin shortly...Oo so sad. Just packed up and moved out of dorm and went home (and lost 7 pounds in a week...well, guys, don't ask us girls what's with the thing about losing weight.) Anyhow, I'm glad to be back, and I think I can update a little more often._

_ - ___

**I've tried like you to do everything you wanted to**

**This is the last time I'll take the blame for the sake of being with you**

-Linkin Park, "Pushing Me Away"

**PART III**

_I saw a single tiny flower amid the verdant meadows, a pretty white bell swaying among the ordinary weed and grass. I picked it and wore it in my hair. Its sweet scent filled my heart with such delight, I danced with joy._

_ But aleck! When night came, my hair began to fall out strand by strand, and my scalp was blue and sore. The blossom fell, too, stained with my crimson betrayal. A beautiful efflorescent--poisonous, traitorous!_

_ As the venom seeped through my disease-stricken veins, and my death inched agonizingly near, I ripped the flower apart and crushed its petals between my teeth. With what strength that I have left, I would find its Creator. _

_ And I would betray Him the same way he did me. _

**CHAPTER I: POISONED**

When Sylvanas decided to leave Quel'dara thirteen years ago with Illidan, there was only one thing in her mind--regret. She wished she had allowed Kael'thas to convince her and stayed with him. She wished she did not have to do what she must. But she had little choice.

Sea breezes blew in her face as she was standing on the deck of the ship. The hood of midnight blue kept slipping down her silken hair, and she kept pulling it back up. Silently. Without complaint. There were shadows of greater worries lurking ahead of her.

A while before she boarded the ships, Ner'zhul and the Scourge ambushed her at the port. Perhaps she underestimated her enemy, But she was certain Illidan had done everything he could have to prevent the assault. She had been horribly sick, and as a result, her telepathy was greatly weakened. The lich king took advantage of her slighted hold over the Forsaken to boost his own forces, and she barely managed to make it with her life and drove him back--thanks to Kael's selfless rescue, Vashj's timely aid, and Elma's sacrifice.

Yet the constraints of her own mortality pulled her down, and she found herself unbearably exhausted after the battle--it had been a very long time since she felt that way. She parted with Kael, to whom she had, almost on a whim, admitted that she loved him. She did not regret it--rather, in her heart was a strange kind of relief. At least he knew her feelings now...As soon as the coastlines were out of sight, she collapsed unconscious in her own cabin.

And when her senses returned, it was around midnight. She went to the front of the ship and stared out into the bleak dark mist surrounding them. She did not look back--there would be nothing to see in this moonless night. She thought she would leave the past behind her for a while and concentrate on the task ahead of her. It never once crossed her mind that it would take thirteen years of endless pain and torture to realize that she could never go home again.

-

_Now King Kael'thas looked upon that tortured face he had been thinking of for the last thirteen years, "Did Ner'zhul follow you? Did he..."_

_ "No," she reminded him sharply. "With the Naga guarding our course, he had enough sense not to pick another war--especially one at sea."_

_ "Then, you arrived safe on the shores of Kalimdor?"_

_ "The Desolace, to be exact," her expression never changed as her voice trailed off, "where our child was born."_

-

After almost seven months of sailing across the vast seas, the Forsaken's ships arrived on the south-eastern shores. Their supplies were running low, and in order for the living troops to last through the unbearably hot summer, they travelled across a desert to the nearest city in search for shelter, water, and resources.

Orgrimmar.

Not wanting to stir up a commotion, Illidan accompanied Sylvanas to the Orc Warrior City while their army waited in hiding.

The orcs never doubted her when she introduced herself as a Windrunner--she a heavily pregnant high elf, a semblance of life itself. Illidan, who made up a false name to hide his identity, explained that Sylvanas would need a roof over her head until her child was due. They, by no means, wanted any quarrel with the Orcs. They were granted an audience with Thrall the Warchief. Rokhan the Shadow Hunter was also present at the meeting.

Immediately, Sylvanas could see that Thrall was hesitant to trust her, but he politely asked her to stay--it would be dangerous for a woman in such a delicate state to travel, he said. She did not tell him that she came all the way from Quel'dara on the other side of the world. But she knew he sensed power about her and Illidan, and he felt threatened--intimidated. Rokhan, on the other hand, was harder to read--or perhaps he was oblivious to the danger so close to him.

"I come in peace," she reinforced innocently, fabricating a story to tell. "My lover Terrorblade and I, as you can see," she indicated Illidan, who said nothing to blow her cover, "are much more liberal in mind than the rest of our people. A high elf, and a night elf--our races would have called it unthinkable. So the two of us wandered in the wilderness, away from them and their slating eyes."

Thrall nodded, not questioning what she was saying.

"And we came across a few Orc warriors earlier on our way. They told us that your people have been practising shamanism, and that it has brought a very positive effect on your people," she continued, putting on an eager face. "Terrorblade and I wish to learn more about it, and the warriors pointed us this way."

Illidan smiled at the wit of the Dark Lady. He had never thought of that as a means to lower the Orc's suspicion. Thrall probably took that amused grin for agreement.

The shadow hunter sneered and asked Sylvanas a question, "Human ally, be you?"

"Ally to the Humans?" her blue eyes widened in genuine surprise. "I wouldn't call myself that." She learned only a little from Illidan's scouts about the alliance and recent political tension between the orcs and humans, but the anger and despise she harboured for the humans seemed to relieve both the warchief and the shadow hunter. And she let out a sigh and softened her tone, "My lover and I have been away from the rest of Kalimdor for so long. We have seen too much--wars, bonds, broken oaths. We only wish there is something we can do to help."

-

It was already evening, and Thrall settled the two travellers into a hut--since they said they were lovers, he assumed they preferred some private space to themselves. They thanked him, but he had a secret feeling that the night elf was not as grateful as he tried to sound. Anyhow, that was hardly any of his business.

"Rokhan," he said to the shadow hunter when they were alone in his lounge. "The two visitors--who do you think they are?"

"I know not," Rokhan shrugged. "But they be not from here. They know not many things. Elf be prideful and they ask not help from orc. Up to something, they be."

"My friend," Thrall sighed. "I am glad you noticed it too. Normally elves do not care to show up in an orcish city. If they really were that in need for help, I think they would have gone back to their people. And if the night elves would not accept Sylvanas, she could have asked for a place in the human alliance. It is not natural that they should come to us Orcs first."

"Shamanism, they say, but know anything about it, they be not," the shadow hunter analyzed. "If they say they wander in forest, how they know Durotar?"

"Good point, Rokhan," Thrall nodded grimly. "They must have had scouts. If they are not alone, then they are definitely up to something. They could be spies, but I just can't seem to think of any reason now. If the humans sent the woman to spy on us, I definitely would understand. But together with a night elf? That is indeed a mystery."

He stopped speaking abruptly as someone entered his hut without warning--he certainly prayed that it was not either of the visitors. Although most elves do not speak Orcish, he was still worried that the two might have 'talents' for language. But in came Manai, one of his women servants. She came in with a deep bow and never once lifted her eyes. "Pardon, Warchief. Samuro brings urgent news from the borders."

Thrall nodded and thanked her, "Tell him I will see him right away."

She retreated, allowing the warchief to finish his thoughts, "Whatever this means, Rokhan, I'd like you to travel to the Moon Glade and inquire the identity of the night elf. I think you are right. There is definitely more to our two visitors than meets the eye."

The shadow hunter bowed and took his leave.

Thrall sighed.

He wished things were simple. He wished he could have believed that his visitors were really a pair of liberal lovers who came to him for aid and asked him to teach them about shamanism. Then, he would gladly do so. But the truth was, he knew, they were not, yet he dared not say he did not believe them. Not before he came to know what laid behind all that.

Now Samuro had come to him, bearing ill news from the borders. He did not know how he was to handle it. Ever since Daelin Proudmoore was killed and his enraged son Railen Proudmoore took up his position as the admiral, there had never been peace. Jaina might be trying her best to convince her brother that the orcs were no longer a threat to them, but her pleading went unheeded. Especially after Thrall realized that Jaina's sister, the powerful dark archmage Brysta was backing Railen. He had not heard from Jaina for quite a while now. (A/N: Recognize bits and pieces from my other fic **Listen**? Some events will be different though).

_One way to test out the visitors, _a thought suddenly came into his mind, _was to get them involved in the tension. _If they chose to take sides, or if they showed any hesitation, he might be able to tell if they were spies. With Sylvanas pregnant, she probably would not get too far. But this _Terrorblade_ person definitely looked like he could help out on the battlefield.

"Warchief, Thiong Son of Bekspad sent me," Samuro the blademaster greeted him with concern etched in his face. "The humans raided our supply vault again late last night. Our night watch were slaughtered--they did not warn us in time. We put up a fight with the humans, but a third of our warriors were slaughtered, and much of our rations destroyed. We managed to drive them away, but we require reinforcements."

"I grieve for our lost warriors," Thrall placed a fist on his heart--a gesture of tribute to the lost souls. "I will supply Thiong with three hundred more men. But the supply vaults must hold."

"Aye, warchief," Samuro bowed and assured him. "The defences will hold."

Even though he said nothing else, Thrall could read him like a book, "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me, blademaster?"

Breathing in a deep sigh, Samuro spoke his mind, "I know you have your reasons, warchief, to not attack the humans. But this certainly is not getting us anywhere. We have been repeatedly subject to ambushes. Why don't we just strike back and wipe them all out--" He caught himself, "Just...we will pull Jaina Proudmoore out of there and send our troops in."

"Because I gave word to Jaina that I _will not_ endanger her people without good cause," Thrall was on the verge of losing his temper. How many times must he explain this? How many times must he make his stance clear that he did not want war with the humans? What must he to make them understand that he was not a threat to them? But he knew--the hatred between their nations ran too deep to be reconciled in just a couple years. The humans were unwilling to let go of it, and he also, as the warchief, had the responsibility to protect his people. "Samuro, not all humans are against us, and Jaina is not our only ally. Railen Proudmoore _is _our enemy now, so we will strike at him, but not at the people around him. We have no right to endanger innocent lives."

"I understand, warchief," Samuro nodded, but deep inside, Thrall knew he did not.

-

Illidan sat in a corner of the hut away from Sylvanas. He let her have the mattress--after all she was pregnant. All through their journey at sea, the sound of her retching in the next cabin became his daily wake-up call. He could not tell how bad her conditions were--since she never let anyone else but Mondelv near her, but he could be certain she was not all right. He wondered how anyone--even for a headstrong woman such as she--could have endured all that suffering and still be so charged with braving the impossible tasks ahead of her. She seemed glad to finally have her feet on the ground again, though he could tell she was still weak and tired from the journey, she made no complaints.

And that evening after they were given the hut, she felt so ill again she had to lie down. They did not speak--he had nothing to say.

But suddenly, she sat upright--he heard the shifting of her mattress.

"What is it?" he muttered half-heartedly, expecting her to probably get sick again.

But there was no illness in her voice. It rather betrayed her excitement, "The blademaster seems to want to strike at the humans."

"What are you talking about?" now she had his full concentration.

"I have been..._observing _the conversation between the Warchief and the blademaster who came just now to report," she told him in Elvish. "That damned beast is planning to disregard the Warchief's orders and send men to Theramore Isle."

"So?" he shrugged. "We best not get involved in their political scandal. Quit spying on them."

"This is a good chance for us to step in and prove ourselves useful. I can manipulate the people around Samuro--certainly he would be more than willing to advance into the human territory if he had the support from his followers. You can stay with Thrall and tell the blademaster off," she seemed to already have a plan inside her head. "And probably the warchief will become our ally and can supply us with military aid after we wiped out the humans."

"Military aid? Illidan stood himself up and faced Sylvanas. "What are you thinking? Oh...Ner'zhul, isn't it? If you could get the warchief to trust you, you'd be able to get forces from him and fight the lich king. But why wipe out the humans? Why do you have to do that?"

"That will be a way we could get the Orcs to trust us," Sylvanas replied, almost on impulse.

He protested, "You can't annihilate the humans just because you want to gain trust from the orcs! That's wrong!"

"This from someone who would murder for magic," she mocked.

"What I do with my life is none of your business," he argued, preparing to leave the hut. "Well, I know I can't control what you do, but just leave me out of your games."

"Well, _Terrorblade_, a scout has been sent to the Moon Glade to find out your identity," Sylvanas merely said. "It appears that the Orcs already find it hard to trust you. And if they realize who you are, I do not even want to know what they'd do to you--some blind night elf who wandered in the woods with a pregnant high elf woman. Not like your brother would recognize this description."

Illidan's face turned livid, "What do you want?"

"Your cooperation."

They both knew perhaps a little too well that she could go reveal his identity to the warchief--and that would give her control over him.

"You're insane. You've been coped up in the boat for too long."

"No, I know exactly what I am doing."

"I am not obligated to help you."

"You are, because you have no choice."

-

The black warden had been waiting for quite some time already.

Days and weeks would only underplay her patience if they were used to describe how long she had been concealing herself in the shadows. But it would not be too much longer--she comforted herself with that thought when all she had been preparing for shall finally become hers. She consoled herself with visions of Illidan lying dead in his own pool of blood.

But nay, she quickly reminded herself and pulled her mind out of that blinding ecstasy. She must wait for the opportune moment when her enemy should suspect the least--then she would strike out and kill him. But not now. For now, she must be prudent.

She waited until the hooded figure passed her by, wading through the foul stench of the swamps of Felwood clumsily. She followed him, soundlessly moving on top of the damp layer of humus--almost glad that this special ability of her former elven self had been retained.

She did not forget that he had a keen sense of smell. Though she could meld with the shadows, she could not fool his nose. Her presence could not completely escape him and so she knew what she must do. She made sure he never even had a chance to draw his weapon.

Creeping up against him as close as she could get, she waited until the creature paused to sniff the air, turned and reached for his weapon--when her bladed arm cleaved cleanly through his neck. He grabbed his own broken throat, his lifeblood spilt freely form the fresh cut. His haunted yellow eyes beamed behind that war mask in a mixture of disbelief and fear as he stared into the face of death.

The black warden did not like much the way he looked at her, punctured his spirit's door and let him slide lifelessly to the forest floor. She stripped him of his weapons and armour--commodities for sale and a means to keep herself alive, and she thought about leaving him to die half buried in the swamps, but figured the message would not have been strong enough. She would ask her servitors to bag the corpse and take to the Warchief's base camp.

The warning had been given. As to whether or not they could save themselves, it would be solely up to the demon hunter.

-

_Coming up next_: Ah, another one of my truncated chapters. I didn't have enough time to finish it. But in the next two chapters, Leprecha will be introduced, as well as the kid of our two favourite heroes.

-

**J A/N**:

--...tossed my boyfriend out the door cuz I needed to write. Oo Eek...

Anyway, the lyrics I quoted at the beginning of the chapter belong to Linkin Park. I will be doing quotes for at least 10 of the chapters by different singers--unless otherwise stated, they don't belong to me...I find this chunk of lyrics particularly funny...considering what Illie has to do for Syl.

**FlAsHy Ad: **Anyone interested in reading a modern 'mafia' story that my friend Vee and I are co-writing (that explains my weeks of absence on ff.net)? Our story will cover (at least) two fictional weeks (it takes much longer than that to write) and I've currently completed up to the fifth day plus the seventh day (sorry, nothing on the sixth day yet). Once the _first week_ is done I might try to get Vee to create a new webpage for it (she's a hell lot better than me in that area. I simply **can't **build websites...). But if she's busy, we'll probably content with plain html files...or Fictionpress.com (phew, what a lifesaver). See if that works.

**DemonGod86**: Haha, thank you. Don't we all wonder where Arthas is? Things are going to get a little more complicated, and I think I am running the risk of being assassinated here...well, until the mystery unveils. Until then. And surely, Nerz would get beat up so bad if he went to Kalimdor, so he didn't...I think he stayed home and watched TV.

**Weirgate**(You were _Implode_, right?!): Yay Canadian! I don't and won't ever spell 'colour' without a 'u' either, unless I'm drunk...but when I'm drunk I can't spell at all -- zzzzZZZ. ¡Vgasp- You really really read my mind. Definitely Leprecha is the sorceress. And as for Khecomo and Iria...

**Eternity**: Thanks!! Well, yeah, I guess the prologue would have shaken up someone who thought Syl'd soon be safe at home with Kael. Nope...but I'll be going back in_ time_ and trying to explain what happened in those thirteen years. Thanks for your invitation. I don't mind posting this on SE.

**Tom**: Thanks . I always have weird things on my mind, and I know it.

**Crimson Paladin**: Thank you. I will be answering those boggling questions in future chapters . -shakes head- I wouldn't say it is the end of Syl x Kael though. Thanks for your second review too (I know I've been taking my sweet time...). Yes, indeed Syl is terrified of becoming Nerz, and that's the reason she wanted to destroy him so that she would never become him. Yes, you're right, she'd become him even if she defeated him. We shouldn't be surprised this is how things turned out, should we? But I WILL MAKE YOU ALL SURPRISED.

**Jackal2332**: What happens when Syl and Illidan landed on Kalimdor? You're exactly right. They'd run into the Orcs, and then the Night Elves. I think I've mentioned quite a bit about humans in RG and I am currently writing another fic on the political tension between them and the orcs, so I'm not sure I'll be focusing them. Of course, there will be humans appearing now and then. You mean if I play Warcraft online? I did. Not anymore though. My computer is sort of nearing its end now, so I don't think it can afford that sort of stimulation...

**Inaam07**: Hey!! Thanks for your support. I kinda found Arthas's (should I say?!) change of allegiance too quick and I didn't really have enough time to sympathize with him. I wasn't in the least bit surprised he'd turn bad in the end when he said he was going to purge the entire village (Hearthglen? I forgot already. It's really TOO long ago ) and relieved Uther of his duty when he did not cooperate. And yeah, if he died in that final duel with Illidan, or even get killed by Nerz, I wouldn't feel sorry for him.

**GG Crono 4**: And it will be explained. Thanks for reading.

**Darth**: Thank you for reading.

**I)Void**: I really did enjoy your review...-consults psychiatrist-...ugh...Shrink said nothing's all right with my mind anyway with all that extreme paranoia and split personalities...but thanks for your review. I ¡Vknow- how jet-lag feels like, and I wonder how you could have typed so much stuff . But anyhow, I've been through some bad jet-lagging cuz I've flown home too ...Yeah, happy birthday to you too, whenever it is.

**San**: Thanks.

-


	3. Questioned

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**A/N**: 12 days since my last update!! At least it's an improvement from last time. My dad kidnapped my laptop and now I have to use Mom's computer again!!! (Extremely careful not to get hacked again...). Sorry about last chapter--FF.net ate all my asterisks and underscores!! No more smilies...that just feels so sad. I'm probably just going to use a dash for a paragraph break. Please bear with me until I figure out how this new system works.

**WEIRD ROMANTIC PAIRING ALERT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN MENTAL RISK!!!! **

-****

**God help you if you're a phoenix and you dare rise up from the ash**

**A thousand eyes will smother you with jealousy while you're just flying past**

-Ani DiFranco, "32 Flavours"

**CHAPTER II: QUESTIONED**

An hour of sleep was all Thrall could get after Sylvanas and Illidan arrived. He spent the rest of his night sitting in the cooler night's chill, thinking. Though he tried to convince himself, he could not shake the feeling that something was about to go amiss--or perhaps it had already happened.

After his meeting with Samuro, he heard the two arguing which raised his suspicion. He understood only a little bit of elvish from his years of slavery to the humans who had close contact with the elves, but not well enough to understand everything. It would not be proper to eavesdrop, but he could not help it when he heard the word 'military aid'. That was what the two were here for--to gain his trust and to get their hands on his army. They even mentioned Ner'zhul's name, but they obviously were not on the lich king's side. Then why did they not just be straight to the point and ask him for aid directly? If the Night Elves were interested in massing an army to defeat Ner'zhul, it would be his honour to send in troops. But what of the high elven woman? She spoke about crushing the humans as though she did not have a heart. Terrorblade would also '_murder for magic_', so Thrall heard, and that did not bring him any comfort.

Who was he? Who was this _lover_ of his?

After offering hospitality for the pregnant woman, it would not be ethical for him to turn her away again. But he needed to figure out who she was and what exactly she wanted before he could decide upon what to be done about her.

What could he do?

He sighed. Why this sentiment? What could not be solved? Rokhan had already been sent to Moonglade to inquire the identity of the night elven man Terrorblade. On the shadow hunter's return, he could have at least known whether Terrorblade was a deportee, a convict, or if he even existed. Perhaps in the meanwhile he could ask Rexxar to come and keep an eye on the night elf--Rexxar always had a sort of strong sensitivity about strangers' intentions, and he was also clear-headed on most occasions.

Why should he still worry?

_Because they had spies and were not alone? _

Who could they be? After the deaths of Kil'jaeden, Archimonde and Mannaroth, he could think of no one who might want to pose threat to the Orcs. Perhaps Ner'zhul would, but _when _would that damned lich king get to Kalimdor--if he would at all? With the mystical energies of the Kaldorei guarding the land--waning but nonetheless still strong, and with the orcs, and probably the humans, ready to ally with the Night Elves again to launch full resistance against the Scourge, the worst he could imagine was that Sylvanas and Terrorblade were spies of Ner'zhul. But they spoke of the lich king with genuine hate, and he did not think they could be in any way related to the Scourge. So who were they?

Footfalls behind him made him turn. But gentle hands touched him on his shoulders and put a cloak around his shoulders. With a sigh of relief, he muttered, "Thank you, Manai."

The woman servant bowed her head. When she lifted her gaze, she spoke in her rough, broken voice, "Pardon, Warchief. I sound rude. But you all right? Manai see you frown, and know you worry."

Thrall nodded with a forced smile, "I am. Thank you for your concern. Manai, you are a dear."

Manai revealed her teeth in a smile--one of her canine teeth had been knocked out when she was a child slave. Other than that, she had a wide jaw and full body, and was considered quite beautiful among Orc men. "Manai know nothing," her smile faded into a sad sigh, "Cannot help Warchief. But make you feel better."

"You definitely have," Thrall reached to pat her on the back of her hand.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of green as she smiled again at him--how lovely. He almost wanted to ask her to sit with him a little while longer while the dawning sun bathed their chilled bodies. But before he could ask, one of the raiders from Samuro's squad pulled his steed up in front of the Warchief's hut, "Warchief, our forces are ready to move out to Thiong's base. Do we have your command?"

"Move out," Thrall stood from the ground and made a gesture of blessing. "Lok Tar Ogar, my brother"

"Lok Tar Ogar, Warchief," the raider placed a hand on his heart and sped off.

Thrall turned and found Manai ready to retire. His soul cried out for her to stay with him, but he knew it could not be. He was the Warchief, and she was merely a servant. He had great tasks ahead of him and the weight of a nation upon his broad shoulders. She could not fight, and she was even less educated in skills of military. It would be out of the question to let her tag along while he underwent possibly dangerous missions.

But he thought he should at least say something to her before he let her go. But how he struggled with his words that just would not come, "I must head to the stronghold. But...Manai, I want you to know this. Whenever my eyes fall upon your face, there is peace in my heart."

-

At the crimson horizon there came more than just the dawning rays of the rising sun. An army was marching towards the small Orcish guard base a distance away from Orgrimmar. Dark and winged, their female bodies were hideously mutilated, and from the sides and limbs of these nightmarish creatures protruded many blades of different shapes and sizes. They advanced, and without warning attached themselves to the first guard tower they saw. Like hungry vampires, they dug their teeth into the bamboo walls and began to suck out the essence of the building materials, reducing them into charred ruins.

The tower crumbled, and the Orcish soldiers who were stationed up there crashed through the floor, straight into the waiting claws of ravenous women warriors--so many of them waited to feast on the living juices of their victims. So many of them it seemed almost ridiculous.

The warrior women resembled night elves, though not quite. Their faces were deathlike white, though their eyes gleamed with unnatural yellow light. They moved quicker than any mortal creature the orcs could name, like frenzied zombies that were oblivious to their victims' suffering and pain.

Almost in unison they stretched their giant bladed wings and body parts of their enemy became severed. They dashed towards the Stronghold standing at the middle of the base camp and devoured all signs of life in their path. Within seconds, many Orcs found their deaths by their multiple bladed claws.

Some of the grunts began to retaliate after they recovered from their initial shock. They hacked their battle-axes through the demon women's head but to no avail. Even though the stinking flesh could be damaged by the axe, it did nothing to stop the possessed army. Instead, the warrior women dug their claws into their enemies' pathetic bodies and began drawing lifeblood from them. Those whom they touched became devoid of life, and there left on their skins was an ugly pink taint. It was as though the demons who had once held the Orcs in slavery had returned again to claim their rightful prize.

And after the guard base had been completely levelled, the women moved on and were headed towards Orgrimmar. Evermore so ravenous for fresh blood, evermore merciless, they would never cease until their mission had been completed.

_Go on, my warriors. No one could have measured the depth of your power, the depth of your hate._

From the top of a cliff, the Black Warden watched with dispassionate eyes as the women marched towards the Orcish City where hundreds of hundreds of fresh mortals would feed their hunger.

_Go on and find Illidan Stormrage and bring him to me. Crush those in your paths, and I shall reward you with his warm blood._

Casting one last look at the fallen base camp, she leapt off the high cliff. Before she landed, she seemed to fade into nothingness like a spectre...

-

_Terrorblade_, otherwise known as Illidan Stormrage, was just getting ready for the morning training with the orcish army a few days later. In the heat of the morning sun, he flexed his muscles and stretched his limps. The orc men all around him stared at his robust form in admiration. Somehow this hero was quite unlike the stooped, hobbling Night Elven druids they were used to seeing. Although blind, Illidan certainly did not need to be guided by the hand. He could find his way around the city without trouble, and he definitely could not be named a liability.

And while the orc warriors chattered away among themselves about how well-built the former demon hunter was, Illidan felt like the hugest fool. _Why had he allowed that bitch named Sylvanas Windrunner to push him around?_ It was true she had the power to reveal his identity to the orcs and had them chain him up or whatever, but what good would it do her? She was _his lover_, and therefore should he be in trouble, she would likely also be blamed. Why had he listened to her and enrolled himself in the orcish army like the perfect fool?

He prayed that Thrall would refuse his offer, but instead, the Warchief accepted almost without thinking and assigned him to a squad under the command of a Mok'Nathal named Rexxar. This Rexxar person might have been a good warrior himself, thought Illidan, but he was a lousy general. He could have been somewhat of a lone wolf or a wanderer, but obviously he was not made to understand the functions of an army.

Illidan kept those thoughts to himself. He was to play the fool that morning, and he would keep up with his pretence.

He refused orcish weapons politely and claimed that he was used to relying on his twin curved-blades. Rexxar did not persist, and they just left the matter where it was.

On the matter of Sylvanas, Thrall asked Illidan not to worry. The women would be taking good care of her while he was away--and he was certain he had no reason to worry. She would be having fun watching him work and sweat while she just lay there in bed. She would probably also be testing out her telepathic influence on the orc women as well. He wondered fiercely why he agreed at all to come with her. The debt he owed her had been repaid, and he had already done more. Why was he such a fool? Why had he chosen to aid her?

He recalled he had been told by orc men on more than one occasion that he was a lucky man and that Sylvanas was a very pretty lady--some of them actually embarrassedly remembered that Illidan was blind and twisted their praises into something else. Illidan played along, and just told them that he agreed with them for he had seen Sylvanas's face before he became blind--that was before he was brought back to life again.

"So, you have been a wanderer," Rexxar said casually, pulling Illidan's attention back to the orc military camp. Illidan could hear the Beastmaster's pet bear growling softly as her tamer threw her bits of leftover meat in his backpack. "Must have been to a lot of places with that lass of yours, haven't you?"

"Why, certainly," Illidan answered without thinking. "Furthest north I've been to is Nendis. Been wandering in Felwood until those undead brutes came."

"Never been down south to the Desolace, have you?"

"Once or twice, ten millenniums ago," the demon hunter shrugged. "Everything's changed. Even the air that I breathe feels different now."

The Mok'Nathal said nothing, but Illidan knew what he said must have shocked him. One thing about these non-elven people was that they always failed to realize how old elves could get. They always tried to look for answers in faces--elves looked forever the same once they reached the age of fifty until the day they die.

"Must have been a surprise, revisiting old places," Rexxar remarked after a while.

"It is indeed--"

Illidan's reply was cut short as he instinctively dodged to avoid a war-axe thrown his way. It took him a second to realize that Rexxar had thrown it.

"Good," the Beastmaster said as Illidan unsheathed his curved blades to parry his second blow. "You have quick reflexes." He freed his axe from the twin blades and swung it at Illidan who took a step to the side agilely and counterattacked.

"Nothing escapes the ears of a blind elf," Illidan replied, parrying more of Rexxar's attacks. He was certain the half-ogre meant him no harm and merely wanted to test out his strength.

"And certainly you have good strength and skill with the blades as well," the Beastmaster observed. "Were you in the army before you became a wanderer?"

"You're right. I have." _No point in denying that. _

"When was that?"

"That would be about a hundred years ago," Illidan replied, now getting the motive behind those questions--the Mok'Nathal was searching for reasons to support the doubts the Warchief had. He would have to lie now and remember what was lied about.

"Were not all night elven men sent to sleep in those thousand years through Ysera's power?"

"It was all the druids, not all the men," Illidan explained. "I was far from a druid. I was a hunter."

"I see," Rexxar nodded and pressed his question, "And when did you give the soldier's life up for a wanderer's?"

"Three years before I met Sylvanas--that would be seven years ago." _Lies, lies. _Illidan knew he was not too terrible of a liar and he could probably get away with it.

"Your battle skills are very polished," Rexxar placed his axes back into their sheath, as did Illidan his weapons. The former demon hunter knew there was a question left unasked--_were there many rogues armed with swords and axes for you to practise with in the wilderness?_

"That's fine..." the Mok'Nathal nodded again and dismissed Illidan. "You can certainly stay in our army."

-

Upon Illidan's return to the city centre where the hut which he and Sylvanas shared was, he could already sense something in the air--and his instincts told him that it had to do with Sylvanas. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his face. His blindfold was soaked, though he did not remove it to free himself from its clammy touch. He was not used to sweating a lot. None of the many different places he had lived in before were as heated--Moonglade, Ashenvale, Lordaeron, Northrend. All of them were colder--some much colder than the Desolace. He wondered what attracted the Orcs to stay in such a horrible place. They did not in the least bit seem to mind the heat however.

And as he predicted, one of the orcs women came to tell him that something was wrong with Sylvanas. Almost instantly, he asked, "Is it the baby?"--and fought the urge to spit. Why did it matter to him? Why should he concern himself with Sylvanas? She was somebody else's lover. Why should he care? But the orc woman took his response straightforwardly as anxiety and led him back to the hut to see the Dark Lady.

Before he even stepped inside, he could hear her bawling--one certainly did not need eyes to know that she was sitting on the floor in a corner. He crouched in front of her and asked, "What's wrong?" It was not like her at all to cry over matters.

She did not speak and just kept on sobbing, giving no indication at all whether she knew of his presence--or even cared. She was inconsolable no matter what he tried to say to her, and in the end, he just found a comfortable position to sit and waited for her to sort out her own emotions on her own. He wondered why he sat there with her--it was a terribly boring and embarrassing task. Somehow he could not force himself to leave her alone in despair, though the silence between them was not helping either. At last, quite annoyed, he started to stand, "If you've nothing to tell me, I'll leave you alone."

She caught him by the arm, "Don't leave."

"All right," he returned to his sitting position, cursing himself inwardly, cursing her inwardly, "But you've gotta tell me what the hell's the matter with you."

"The midwives--they said my pelvis is too narrow and it would be a difficult childbirth."

He hardly recognized her voice--it had become so broken and hoarse with tears.

He would have worried with her, but instead, a thought crossed his mind. He laughed, "You are an elf! That's how elves are--did you expect yourself to have the wide hip of an orc? Have you ever heard elf women die because they had small hips?"

"No," she mumbled timidly.

"Well, there's no reason to be scared at all," he continued unhelpfully. "If your childbirth is going to be difficult, it can't be helped. Stop worrying about it."

"It's my first child. Try to be sympathetic, all right?" A bit of the old Sylvanas Windrunner seemed to return when she became angry--that rather relieved Illidan though not for long. She was losing her edge again, "But why did I ever put myself up with this cripple? Why didn't I kill the child? I could have been fighting Ner'zhul now, instead of sitting here, doing nothing."

"Sylvanas," he sighed. These words of self-pity had been said too many times, he had become numb hearing them. He knew she was merely saying them for the sake of saying them. She had never been able to gather up courage and destroy this gift, this curse that Kael gave her--that was unfortunately not only the source of Sylvanas's insanity, but that of Illidan's as well. "You have already made that choice--stay with it. Just a few more weeks left, and then you can do whatever you want. It's not too bad. "

He felt her arms sliding round his neck, and he was surprised she would embrace him. Deep down, he fiercely wished that she was Tyrande, even if she was carrying Furion's child.

But she was not. She was still Sylvanas. She was still the Dark Lady, who, in the past seven to eight months, had been driving everyone to the brink of madness--Illidan dared say Varimathras and Mondelv as well.

"Maybe I just miss Kael so much," she whimpered in a very soft voice.

He breathed an audible sigh and put his arms around her. How could he pretend he did not understand what she was feeling?

"Do something for me."

"Uh-huh?"

If there was anything at all he could do to make her feel better.

She leaned close to his ear and whispered.

He almost cursed--outwitted again and trapped in another one of her games.

But she kissed him on the lips.

And this was what she told him,

"_The Orc women are spying through the window. Kiss me._"

-

Like a swarm of angry bees the blades did flicker and the wings did buzz, the murderous warrior women approached as the sun made its departure from the much heated earth, preparing themselves for another epic battle--another epic feast. Of the many camps they devoured, none could put up resistance. None at all. The centaurs, ogres, quillboars, kobolds and harpies all fell victim to their blood lusty consumption. None lived to warn their fellowmen of these dangerous life-draining warriors. Thus each time the women attacked, their pathetic victims were unaware and were given no chance to strike back.

They found their ways to the other side of the Desolace where a wondrous orcish warrior city stood--Orgrimmar. There would be flesh to feed more than two hundred ravenous mouths and blood enough to quench their thirsts.

They concealed themselves in the shadows of the retiring sun and advanced quietly, careful not to be found out. So dark their twisted bodies were they were hardly visible as they made their ways deeper into the unsuspicious city.

Aleck! Aleck! But someone seemed to be aware of their presence as they drew nearer to their destination. Who could that be? Someone who possessed such terrible, demonic telepathy?

_Dark Lady..._

They hissed hatefully under their breaths to one another.

_Dark Lady, a friend of Illidan Stormrage..._

Should they give up their hunt? Well they could never give up their hunt. Their mistress the Black Warden had put a curse upon them and they could do nothing other than hunting that hated betrayer. They must head into the city and eliminate her first before she could alert the others. But could they defeat her? Though their earlier attacks had given them more minions who were put under their telepathy, the Dark Lady could very well turn the possessed units against them.

They could sense her becoming alert--she was running.

In dreadful rage they hissed and charged...

-

Sylvanas hurried out of the hut and began searching for Illidan. _Damn_. How come he was always around when she did not want him near and nowhere to be found when she needed him? Her pregnancy weighed her down, and she could only run as fast as it allowed her to.

One of the orc women saw her looking around and asked her if she needed any help, though the orc spoke very poor Common and Sylvanas could hardly understand a word of it.

"Where is Terrorblade? Have you seen him?"

The Orc woman shook her head with a very confused look on her face and started to say something incomprehensible. The elf decided to give up and look for him by herself, but the orc tugged at her sleeve and pointed in a direction. "Terrorblade," she uttered. "There."

Sylvanas did not even bother to thank her. She darted to where the orc pointed--down a sand-covered avenue with burrows on both sides of the road. She found him standing at the end, speaking with two shamans.

"Illi--" she caught herself before she burst out his real name, "Something horrible is approaching this place, something hostile. Go to the Warchief now and tell him to gather every man who can bear arms."

"What is it?" worry crept across his face. Even though he did not trust her completely, he knew better than to doubt her judgement. But 'something horrible' was too vague for him to picture the danger. "What do you sense? An army?"

"An army," she confirmed. "I do not know what they are. I sense terror--the stench of blood chaining heavily all around. These demons seemed to be escapees from their torturers in a red, broken world."

The two shamans seemed alarmed, but Illidan shrugged. "They could be from Outland. There are more demons in Outland than critters in the three continents put together."

Eyeing the two Orcs, she switched to the elvish tongue, "But I also read in their thoughts your name."

"Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Just hurry up and tell Thrall about it."

"How far are they from here?"

"It doesn't matter. By then, the first demon should have already arrived."

-

"A hostile army?" Thrall repeated in shock. "Where had you spotted them? Our scouts from the watchtowers have seen nothing."

"Sylvanas has a strong clairvoyant instinct--she can't be wrong about it," Illidan placed his hands on Thrall's desk. Running his fingers over the wooden surface he could almost read from its rings and lines how old the tree must have been before being cut down.

"But an army neither human nor creep--a legion of demons from Draenor?" Thrall shook his head and placed a hand on the upper arm of the former demon hunter. "Why would they ever wish to come to attack this place?"

"That we have no idea, but please, trust us." Illidan repeated Sylvanas's message. "Just gather up an army so you would not be caught unprepared."

A scraping screech cut through the air and interrupted their conversation. Thrall looked through the window of his study close to one of the entrances to Orgrimmar to find that a watchtower had been sent crumbling. A black, bladed and winged figure came marching into the city--the first of many. He would have wondered how one of her, something no bigger than the size of an elf woman could have pushed over a watchtower, but he was not given time. More bladed demons advanced, surging towards the city in unbelievable speed.

Both the warchief and the night elf raced out of the hut. They were joined by a group of orcish guards who were shocked by what they saw.

Thrall reached for his weapon, as did those near him. To his generals, shamans and fellow warriors, he placed his command, "Pick up your weapons! Gather up warriors! Tell the women and children to leave this place at once!"

"What are they?" someone yelled.

"From the sound of their movement, they are called vile tormentors, my friend. We must be careful of these beastly women," Illidan answered. If there had been one single orc there who had not been clouded by terror, he would have heard Illidan give out something about himself--that he had been to Outland and he had seen vile tormentors before.

Thrall did not begin to believe Illidan's tale until he saw one of the demon women pick up a grunt between her claws and bit through him with her sharp teeth, tearing flesh from his pathetically struggling body to feed her hunger. And he felt the hammer in his hands slip from the sweat in his palm.

Illidan rushed forward to meet the first demon. Perhaps being blind helped him stay calm. He did not have to see what horror beheld the unfortunate orc. He blocked the first bladed claw with a swift swipe of his twin blades and added another blow to his opponent's neck. He could almost smell blood escaping the vile tormentor's throat, but it quickly disappeared--the wound healed almost on instant.

Thrall watched with amazed horror. How were they to fight those creatures if they cold not be harmed by the blade? There were numerous monstrous demons, but behind them marched an assorted army of seemingly possessed creatures-- strong centaurs, wicked harpies, small kobolds...and somewhere at the back of the rally followed possessed orcs.

"No..." the Warchief protested under his breath. No, he must not be right. Could those vile creatures have in mind to enslave the entire Desolace population?

He could see some night elves among the possessed as well--suddenly it occurred to him that some of the vile tormentors resembled night elves so much. What were they? Why did they hold so much hatred for the orcs? Had they come to claim the minds of all mortals? Were they undead?

A blue zap of lightning woke him from his trance--and he had been spellbound by his fear. Illidan burnt mana from one of the tormentors advancing upon Thrall. The warchief slammed the hammer into her head and heard bones snap--he knew with his application of strength, he should have been able to break her neck. But instead of collapsing, the vile tormentor still lunged for him after her head drooped to a side.

"Warchief!" Rexxar and Misha rushed to the scene to aid their warchief. The bear attempted to maul the twisted demon to pieces, but the sharp blades cut its mouth and it was forced to let go. Just then, another watchtower that had been standing at the entrance of the city was pushed over by two tormentors and trampled into many pieces. Thrall had to make a decision quickly.

"Fall back! Retreat deeper into the city!"

"I'll hold them!" Illidan volunteered, flaring up an immolation shield as he swung his blade into the middle section of a tormentor. If these demons, as Sylvanas said, were here for him, he needed to figure out why. Shifting his double blades in one hand, he conjured a spell with the other--energy sizzled from his fingertips to form red-hot lightning. He willed the heat to concentrate into a glowing globe in his palm and flung the ball of fire towards his enemies. The injured tormentor rushed forward to take the burnt, shielding the rest of her sisters from the impact. It crashed onto the floor in a heap of ashes.

"I'll stay and fight with you, Terrorblade!" Rexxar offered, burying his axe into the heart of another of those demons. Both he and Illidan knew--even if they all stayed, there was not much they could do. It took so much effort to merely take out one of those demons. What would it take to destroy all of them? The satyrs and Naga and, most of all, the Forsaken hidden somewhere in the Desolace could definitely be of great help though that would give Sylvanas and Illidan out. But if they did not summon help soon, there might not even be a chance for Thrall to figure out who they were. Illidan knew he had to get Sylvanas on the frontline--it was no use sacrificing Rexxar who obviously knew nothing about fighting these demons.

"Do you have a scroll of teleportation?" Illidan asked the Mok'Nathal who nodded. "Use it! Go back and get Sylvanas here to help."

"Sylvanas?" Rexxar argue. "But you wouldn't want to risk her!"

"We don't have a choice!" Illidan snapped. "Hurry! "

The Mok'Nathal would have stayed to debate with him, but hearing his tone, he knew better than to waste time. He rushed back to the heart of the city where Thrall was just rallying more men to aid the demon hunter. He was immediately worried to see Rexxar return alone.

"He told me to find Sylvanas," Rexxar explained.

"Why?"

But the elf woman was already rushing towards the scene with her bow and arrows ready. She moved swiftly for a woman in her state--Rexxar imagined her ot be much more agile when she was not pregnant. "Terrorblade needs me," she declared as she tried to move past the Warchief who stood in her way.

"It is too dangerous, Lady Sylvanas," Thrall had to stop her. "I must protest. This battle is not child's place, you understand?"

She wanted to say, "Do I look like I'm someone merely capable of child's play?" but it took much more effort to restrain her tongue. She knew she was capable of putting an arrow through Thrall's green face, but she held her rage in check. Make a wrong move in haste and she would only sentence herself to doom.

"If I don't reach him, he will die and none of you will live!" she hissed in controlled calmness and walked past an astonished Thrall, leaving him to wonder why he had let her go on in this seemingly hopeless war. Nonetheless, he commanded his troops to follow her.

-

Sweat trickled down Illidan's brow. From the sound of the shrieking demons, he must have been completely surrounded. He could feel burning pain along his arms and on his upper body. The demons had left many marks but it was certainly not their intention to take his life--or they would have done so already.

He brought his twin blades against his enemies again and again, his arm felt sore and drained. But the vile tormentors never seemed to tire.

Damn! Why would these creatures come for him? Who did they work for? He could think of no reason these creatures from Outland should wish to drain his energy and hold him captive--they could have been Magtheridon's fraction of loyal warriors who looked for revenge, but would they come this far?

Or was Sylvanas mistaken?

He was almost relieved to hear the familiar sound of her flexing bowstring. He had been so close to being totally drained, and knowing that she had arrived relieved him and perhaps recharged a bit of his much dimmed hope. He spoke to her rapidly in elvish, "Sylvanas! We have to bring the army here. Call Varimathras and Scilla."

"We have an army here," Sylvanas replied, indicating the orcs. "It makes no difference to me." She fired two more shots swiftly through the head of one of the tormentors--the black poison in her deadly arrows slowed the demon, though not completely immobilizing her. While the orcs moved forward, she gave Illidan cover as he fell back behind melee units.

"We'll give these brutes a pincer," Sylvanas touched the minds of the vile tormentors again and could see that they were held under the telepathy of a great source of power. Something told her that it was elven, though not quite. Who was it?

She readied a charm spell, but the vile tormentors moved too fast for her to target. She reached out to the orcs fighting alongside her--she was still not strong enough to overcome the bonds of loyalty of the orcs to their warchief to snatch absolute control, but she had figured a way to influence them into action. She sent two raiders to run across the field towards one tormentor with their string nets stretched. The demon became ensnared, and though she struggled to cut through the net with her blades, the strings became entangled in her wings. Sylvanas unleashed her charm spell and won the vile tormentor on her side.

The Dark Lady put more charm spells on those hapless creatures until finally they realized something was wrong and that some of their sisters were fighting against them. Those who were not under Sylvanas's control abandoned the orcs and attacked the traitors in their ranks instead. Thrall and Rexxar watched in horror, and they had reason to worry--Sylvanas could have done that to the orcs if she had it on her mind.

"Leave them to fight among themselves!" she shouted across the battlefield and gestured for the orcs to advance, but they certainly did not have to be told. The army which the vile tormentors possessed was already rushing towards them, swarming into the city, attempting to crush everything into oblivion. Even though outnumbered, against a possessed army of harpies, centaurs and quillboars seemed to be a much easier task than to slay the vile tormentors together with them.

Seeing a chance they could actually win, the orcs felt braver and they charged forward with much more valour. Thrall immediately found himself surrounded by eight warriors of several races, attacking him viciously from all directions. He could not bring himself to attack the orcs and trolls who were in uniform of his ranks. Yet again, he never thought he had to fight to fight his own people after Archimonde and Mannaroth both fell. Whoever that put him through the agony again was savage--and this he would not forgive.

Nonetheless, the centaurs and ogres--even kobolds when in large quantities were tough opponents. Within seconds, Thrall had already tasted the impact of clubs, hammers and blades on his back and shoulders. He was not slow for a warrior--he just did not have so many hands to block all those attacks that came raining down on him. Some great warchief he was, one who defeated Archimonde and founded Durotar--he just felt like a child then, cornered by far too many bullies. He had to cast earthquake on the ground a bit further from him to keep a new wave of enemies from reaching him too soon, but he knew there was nothing he could have done about them.

Flies on both sides met--harpies flooded the scene and began to claw batriders and wyverns into ribbons. These women were savage by nature and knew no pity. Sylvanas stretched her bow against the bird-women--their luck indeed to run into the former ranger general of Silvermoon. Sylvanas remembered being humiliated by humans while the elves were still allied to them, that for an army which consists of mostly women on the frontline, they had to be pretty soft. It was true that most elven generals were women, but if the humans knew the truth--that elves could be traitorous as well, that harpies, Naga and Satyrs were once Elves--if only they knew that, they would stop laughing and be grateful to the Light that they were allied to the 'softest' of all elven armies.

Twisted night elves were also there among those possessed by the vile tormentors. Almost all of them had been deformed somehow. Women's faces were marred by knife marks, and men's bodies were covered with sores. They were still living, obviously, though already decaying.

And amid the waves of night elven warriors, a figure of a tall female clad in the typical heavy armour of a warden stood with her bladed arms outstretched. Her face was concealed behind a helm, but she parted her lips in a menacing smile. Green gunk escaped from her half-opened mouth as she whispered a name...

_ Illidan Stormrage..._

-

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

...an Ill/Syl pairing then? (sigh)...Ah well. I'm gonna stop giving out in which chapter I'm gonna introduce people cuz (1) of unexpected plot changes and (2) I never work fast enough, so forget what you read earlier. Thanks for your support and your patience.

-

**Inaam07**: Companion story...ah, you can say that, though things will be a bit different in **LISTEN**. If you happen to be a Rokhan fan, rest assured because he will not be trying to find out Illidan's identity in **LISTEN**. Leprecha will soon arrive on stage--a delay due to a lengthened battle scene. Interesting theory there. Arthas couldn't maintain control over the Forsaken because Ner'zhul was losing power--that is true. But Arthas plus Ner'zhul wouldn't necessary mean they have more power. So maybe they could have tried to retake the Forsaken without success? Well said about not wasting a good character. Even though I don't like Arthas either, it wouldn't be fair if I just let him go out of the picture quietly. We shall see. Good luck with your story.

**DemonGod86**: Thank you so much. I definitely would like to try my luck at Blizzard though I wonder if they'd take a third year Fine Arts student? Not that they'd find me useful when they have Chris Metzen there...oh wait. He'd get old someday. I may yet have a chance . 'Maiev has a ton of Illidan fangirl in her'...an inspiring phrase. My version of Syl never had any good feelings about humans, though she _normally_ would not think of annihilating them. Must have been the weather...or it could be some forces of evil? The focus of this story will not be on humans so much, but I have definitely tried to draw some parallel between this story and **LISTEN**--they should take place at roughly the same time, although, like what I typed to inaam07, Rokhan will be doing a different task in **LISTEN**. Interesting idea regarding the black warden.

**Jackal2332**: Thanks. If you're referring to my other fanfic which focuses on the tension between humans and orcs, it's titled **LISTEN**. ****

**Ira Poon**: Yeah. Hey no problem. Thanks for your support all the same. The lyrics...just felt like singing suddenly.

**Arthus**: Thanks for reading.

**GG Crono 4**: Thanks for your support.

**Tom**: More Kael. Okay. He'll be back in the picture in the next chapter.

**Crimson Paladin: **Ah ha. I actually didn't plan to include the Black Warden in the last couple chapters of RG, but for some reason I decided to let her out earlier. But she definitely will play a larger role in this sequel. I am not very much in support of M x I, though I do enjoy reading good M x I fics.

**Weirgate**: Thanks.


	4. Devoured

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae******

**A/N: ****FLASHY AD**: Could I beg you please to go look at a pencil sketch of Syl that I did? Please?! Just click on my profile and click the link for my homepage (I've got nothing on my homepage, but anyway). This is how Syl would look like before she was killed if I work for Blizzard. Please comment on my picture by dropping a line about it when you review this chapter (_I totally wish_ --sigh--). Feel free to tell me that I should just stick to writing. ****

**-******

And it's been awhile  
Since I could hold my head up high  
And it's been awhile  
Since I could stand on my own two feet again

-Staind, "It's Been a While"

-

**_We escaped from them. _**

**_Yes we did._**

**_How they tortured us, how they took our pride and made us crawl on our hands and knees. _**

**_But no more. They will not dare harm a single hair on us. _**

**_We have escaped, and they are not going to get us._**

**_And, by the Goddess, we will not forget this hate. _**

_-_

**CHAPTER THREE: DEVOURED**

**(OUTLAND, 3 WEEKS AFTER ILLIDAN'S DEPARTURE)**

_Betrayed...abandoned...left to die..._

"Mistress?"

_ Injured...soaked in her own blood...broken... _

"Mistress!"

Maiev Shadowsong gave a terrible shriek and kicked her helm from her side as hard as she could. She barely noticed her surroundings as she crashed knee first to the ground and she began to tug furiously at her own dark long curls. Her screams were hollow, but her tears were real. No more signs of the famous Warden Shadowsong was left in her. Nothing remained now but frustration, unhealed injuries and shattered pieces of her heart. She did not bother to wipe the tears that marred her cheeks. Let them flow. Let them choke her. Let them drown her.

"Elune...Goddess...what have I done to merit this?" she screeched, clutching at her own heart where a terrible, dull pain swelled. "Could you show me why you have forsaken me? Could you show me that now?"

"Mistress, please," beside her, Davita, her one and only companion pleaded. "Everything will be all right. The Goddess has not abandoned us."

"No, she has abandoned us!" Maiev pushed the huntress away from her--arms that were once so strong could now do no more than disturb air. "Look at us. We have tried. We have. But Illidan has closed all portals and left this damned place. There is no way home for us. We are stuck in this hopeless world, surrounded by demons of every sort. There is no hope left."

Dragging her sight across the red desert, Davita found it hard not to agree. Neither she nor her mistress had the power to reopen a portal--and even if they had, they did not know how to make it work either.

And since they discovered that Illidan was gone and they were left to fend for themselves in the broken world, many in their army had become restless, desperate and angry. Most blamed Maiev for her failure as a leader and left her to seek better fortune. Some did not survive the barren wilderness. Some were killed by fierce local demons. Some wandered off and never returned. In the end, only seven chose to remain by their mistress's side--and only Davita was still alive after several weeks crawled by.

The heated desert wind brushed Davita's blue hair away from her sweat-dripping face. She turned her eyes upon the sun, forever shrouded by clouds of grey and crimson. There were times when she fiercely wished she could have joined the dead. But quickly, she would remind herself that if she died as well, Maiev would be left alone in this friendless world. Of course, the Warden had her flaws--but she was a mere mortal, not a deity. How could those in the army just put the blame on her for everything and walk away as though they had no responsibilities of their own to bear? Davita was never particularly acquainted to the Warden, but she did not have the heart to condemn her. She stayed behind with Maiev--either path she chose would eventually lead to death. Why not let her conscience remain clear?

Among the seven who chose to follow the Warden, a druid was the first to fall ill and die after consuming poisoned water from a nearby stream. Then at the end of a whole week of thirst and starvation, the other five companions lost their sanities and set fire to themselves. Poor Maiev was forced to watch as the flames went high, consuming five of the only friends she had left. She climbed up to a high ridge and tried to throw herself down, promising her dead companions that she would not leave them alone. It took Davita three sleepless days to try and talk her out of it. Maiev did follow her down the ridge, but not one more sane word had been heard from her.

"There is always hope," Davita muttered fiercely under her breath--it was barely enough to convince herself. "As long as we do not deny ourselves of it, there will always be hope."

She took Maiev by the arm and led her down the gentle slope. The food supplies they brought with them through the portal were claimed by the army who deserted them. Surely this hunger would soon conquer both their wills, and if they did not find proper food soon, survival would be out of the question. It was getting harder and harder to stay optimistic each passing second, even if they wanted to.

Maiev stumbled and refused to get up even when Davita tried to help her.

"Remember Naisha?"

"Yes," Davita hissed gravely. "Yes, I remember Naisha."

"I should never have abandoned her," the Warden wailed. "I understand why the Goddess would have me trapped here in this unforgiving world now! I ran away when I should have faced death with Naisha and our sisters. For such cowardice, Elune is right to punish me harshly. Oh! If only I had known. Being buried alive seems a much sweeter death than waiting here for something to kill me."

"No, Maiev," Davita put her arms around the Warden. "No. That is not true. Elune is forgiving. She knows you didn't do it out of selfish fear of death. She must have meant for you to escape from the Tomb so that you could warn us of the danger--" She could not continue. If Elune the Great Goddess was forgiving, how could She leave one of her own here to die?

Maiev's silvery eyes dimmed, "Or was it because I left Tyrande to die? The priestess is much more favoured than I, and I can see it was wrong of me to have infuriated the Goddess."

"Don't think about it too much," Davita pleaded. "It was not your fault. You had no choice."

Here in this merciless world, one would inevitably start to doubt many things--and Davita was not certain she would like to doubt the Goddess. She did not go on.

"Come on," she offered Maiev a hand. "Let's move on."

"Just leave me here. I'm too weary."

"Here. Let me help you take off your armour. That would lighten your burden," Davita began to remove Maiev's shoulder and chest plates--the Warden did not protest. The armour that she once wore with much pride was now stained with weeks of grease and blood. Davita could not but fight remorse as she let the beautifully carved metal slip from her hand to the red sand--it was as though she was letting go of parts of Maiev, and parts of herself which became too heavy for them to carry.

But Davita could not accept it when the warden set her round blade alongside the pieces of heavy armour--it was a gift from Maiev's mentor the night she was initiated, an elegant weapon forged with ancient iron and bronze, a blade that was the blessing and honour from a teacher to a favoured pupil.

"You can't leave that," Davita whispered her protest.

"Rather die than fight," Maiev muttered and attempted to move on.

"Maiev..."

The huntress blinked back tears as her mistress headed down the red desert. Without the heavy armour, Maiev seemed so small and helpless. As was her will to live shrinking each passing hour.

"I'll carry it, Mistress," Davita reached for the round blade and strapped it to her back with her three-bladed sword. Then, she trotted to catch up with her mistress.

-

Davita's eyes dimmed as the sun retreated behind gloomy colours of the night. One more day had past, and she and Maiev were to wander another night without food, water, or aid. Instead of finding her vision honed by nightfall like she always did back home, she realized she was almost blind in this ominous darkness. She cast a look in Maiev's direction. Neither did her mistress's eyes reflect any starlight--there was nothing in the night skies in this forsaken world.

"Perhaps we should rest," the huntress suggested. "But not here in the open. Who knows what awaits in the darkness. We best find a safer place." Oh the sheer irony! Where in the world could she find a safer place when there was nothing but endless deserts around them? Not even a boulder was in view.

"We'll rest here," Maiev said with a sigh. "After all, we are going to die. Who cares where?"

"Maiev..."

The Warden laid herself flat on the red sand, and Davita beside her after removing the weapons strapped to her back. Long had she cast aside her huntress's armour, and soon, she realized, she would have to make the choice Maiev did and leave her weapon in order to be able to drag herself on for another step. But for now, she would hold onto the blades. She made sure the weapons were within arms length in case some dim-witted demons should come to try their luck.

Davita listened to Maiev's breathing as it became deep and easy and knew that she was asleep. Sometimes she envied the Warden who already accepted death before it came. Maiev welcomed death--she did not worry about demons sneaking up on her while she was sleeping. She did not worry about throwing herself off a cliff. But Davita just could not help it. She did not want to die yet, even though there appeared to be no other choice. If Lord Death was near, she wished for Him to grant her one wish--that He should take her back to Ashenvale before claiming her life.

Soft footfalls in the night alerted her.

A lone felhound pup.

Davita thought she could hear the breath drawn by the demon. In and out. In and out. _Give me your blood. Feed me. Satisfy my appetite. _

Tensely, the huntress reached for her weapon. The thought of some demon hungering for your blood was hardly comforting. She risked a glance at Maiev who showed no signs she knew how close to danger she was. It was only one demon, Davita tried to tell herself she could handle the whelp--and with any luck its friends were not around.

When the felhound pounced, she was ready.

The demon hound clamped down its jaw on Davita's three-edged sword. The huntress sprang to her feet immediately and tried to wrestle her weapon loose, but the felhound was far too strong and tossed her to the floor instead. Sensing that she was not going to leave it to feed, the felhound charged madly at the huntress who rolled off the floor to escape its stampede. She knew Maiev's round blade was somewhere on the ground next to where the Warden was lying. But it was too dark for her to even see, and Davita could only make out what was immediately in front of her. How was she to find the weapon?

"Mistress!"

The felhound spit the three-bladed sword back at her and it came flying in her direction. Thank her quick elven reflexes she was able to sidestep in time. But now without weapon and almost blind in shaded darkness, she knew she would probably not be able to defeat the beast. She shivered at the thought of death with the felhound's sharp horn in her spine.

"Mistress!"

By the low growling of the violent demon, Davita knew her opponent was enraged. She could not leave Maiev defenceless, but she had no power to protect her mistress either. She only prayed that the warden would be awake enough to run.

The felhound's paws shifted in the sand--she could hear it. It was coming for her, charging forward with its jaws wide open. She listened, frozen in fright, trying desperately to shift her footing at the right moment to save her own life.

Too late.

She could feel the beast's sharp claws digging into her flesh--one through her arm and the other in her belly. She tried to wrestle herself free, but the pain was so intense she could hardly even stay awake. In that split second, she could think of nothing. She could make no sound.

But somewhere in the darkness, there came a familiar voice that almost brought tears to her eyes. A voice that was both her leader and only friend left in this broken world.

A voice that would condemn her to her death, "Let go, Davita."

"Maiev! Mistress! Please help me!"

"Let it kill you. Let go of life and welcome death..."

"No!!!"

Davita could no longer hear the warden's voice as though the world had become completely silent. It seemed that Maiev had either left, or was waiting on a side for the felhound to be done with the huntress and then take her life. Davita used the last bit of her strength to struggle, but it was no use. There was nothing she could do about the giant jaw that had clamped down upon her shoulder. So this was it. This was death...

The felhound collapsed on its side with a throw-knife buried in its stomach. Another one hit it again. It roared and tried to get up, but a third throw-knife embedded itself into its heart and punctured the vital organ. The demon crashed onto the floor, bathing in its own pool of blood, never to rise again. Davita stared numbly at the dark figure with her jaw dropped.

"Mistress?"

Maiev said nothing, but just laid herself down on the sand again.

-

And suddenly, Davita found herself staring at the corpse of the felhound--stinking flesh, covered with the raw, strong stench of blood. In her head she was forming pictures of orcs devouring the meat of a deer they hunted in the woods. They had butchered the poor animal and just tore the flesh and ate, never even bothered with thanking Nature for this generous gift. They ate like ferocious beasts, without guilt, without feeling the dead animal's pain. But hell, they were eating something.

The corpse of the felhound did not look appetitive at all, but still it was tempting to someone who had gone without food for longer than was tolerable. How did those orcs feel as they were consuming an innocent live? Had they been ravenous beyond any sense? Was that the reason orcs were savage and aggressive--that they were always hungering? What did a gulp of blood taste like? These were things unknown to Night Elves that respected life and would never take another life for their own purposes--even as they were starving to death.

But this demon was already dead--there were too many of them for the good of the world anyhow. To leave its body to decay would be such waste...without even realizing what she was doing, Davita ripped out the felhound's front paw. Dark bubbling blood flowed from the wound, and she cupped her mouth over the opening, sucking hard. The sickening stench of the blood almost made her vomit, but at least she was drinking something warm that would keep her alive. She squeezed her nose with a hand and forced herself to swallow.

A funny feeling struck her--it was as though thousands of vigilant eyes were turned upon her. But when she looked around, she could see no one. The night was quiet and chokingly dark, and the warden was still lying on her side probably asleep. There could be other demons lurking around, but the last thing Davita wanted to do was to deal with any more of them.

Forcing down a few more mouthfuls of demon blood, she tried the flesh. Her herbivorous teeth were not made to tear raw flesh, but hunger pressed strength into her jaws and she chewed and swallowed as though she had not eaten in a thousand years. Each bite she took eased her hunger, though it also increased the weight upon her conscience. What was she doing? Had she gone completely mad from hunger? Suddenly, she pictured herself as those mythical blood-sucking fiends she heard from the Ancients as a child--those soulless, cruel creatures of the night that walk for the sole purpose to feed on mortal's fresh blood...

**"_Eater of demons..."_**

A voice made her pause and almost choked on a mouthful. She was indeed being watched. And what was she being called? Eater of demons? Something even more vile and miserable than demons themselves?

_ **"Eater of demons, you are weary. Find rest in me...Sleep..."**_

Sleep? Oh yes, how she yawned. She was tired. She had not slept in quite a while, and beyond the dark the voice's command was tempting. But not on an empty stomach, she would not obey. Pushing the bit of demon flesh into her protesting mouth, she chewed, swallowed, until her eyelids became too heavy for her to stay awake...

She did not even know when she hit the ground...

-

The searing sun was high when she opened her eyes again.

Something did not feel quite right, although she could not put words to the feeling. Pulling herself up from the heated sand, she fought the wave of nausea that hit her and struggled to stand. As though for the first time again, she discovered the world around her to be so dizzyingly crimson and bright. She had to raise a hand to shield her eyes from the unnatural light. Tears rolled down her cheeks--funny, but she could think of no reason why she must weep. She wiped the moisture with the back of her other hand--and gasped to see that it was coated with her own blood.

She was weeping blood.

She covered both eyes with her hands in frantic hopes to try and stop the bleeding, but it availed her nothing. Red liquid seeped through her fingers and travelled down her arms, and she thought she was going to go blind.

"Maiev, help me! I'm..."

Wait.

She risked a peep.

Maiev was no longer there.

Nor was the dead felhound.

In the place where Davita last saw them were two trails of blood, leading east towards the sun. Strange tracks marred the earth. The three blood-covered throw knives were on the ground--they had been pulled out of the felhound's body and cast aside, as were the round blade and the huntress's own three-bladed sword.

It appeared that both Maiev and the corpse of the felhound had been dragged away--but by whom or what and why? Davita fought to suppress the rising fear in her mind and forced herself to concentrate. Who could have taken the warden, and where to? Oh, such folly of her to have fallen asleep when she should have kept vigil during the long night! Had Maiev followed those demons out of her own will? Or was she made to go with them? Was she injured? Was she even alive?

Davita refused to accept the notion that Maiev could already be dead. She had to find the warden--Goddess willing, before it was too late.

Sucking in a deep breath, she started staggering towards the sun, following the meshed up footprints in the desert. She knew she should expect a fight if she were to win the warden back--but how could she even wield a weapon when she had become almost blind? She chose to carry the warden's round blade as well as the throw-knives, remorsefully leaving her own weapon behind. She had no other choice. She could not carry so many things with her.

Speaking of those footprints, what could have made them? She could name no creature with feet shaped like that. They were, without a doubt, residents of Outland--no reason for her to suspect otherwise. But why would they only be interested in Maiev and not her?

Pictures of horror filled her imagination, and she put more speed into her tired legs, breaking into a dash. How could she have been so careless? How could she have slept through it when the demons came for Maiev? She would never forgive herself if anything happened to the warden.

The trails of blood seemed to thin out under the sun until they melded completely with the colour of the red soil. Or was it only the blood gushing out of her eyes that blurred her vision? Damn it! She could do nothing about the bleeding, and it was getting harder to see. But she would go on nonetheless--her determination would propel her until she made sure her mistress was delivered to safety.

All of a sudden, a stagger of wind attacked the parched earth, sweeping up a small sandstorm. Davita hugged her tattered clothes close to her frail body and shielded her eyes and nose from the gust. Oh blasted wind! The blast of air felt merely fluttered through her rags, but was strong enough to erase the footsprints in the sand. Davita cursed like a foul-tongued human, forgetting all Night Elven manners. If these sole clues were gone, where else could she turn to find her warden's captors?

Oh Elune! Great Goddess of love and divinity, leave not your own children to die.

As though struck by some holy signs, Davita raised her head to find a tiny spot in the crimson heavens. Was that the sun? No. Sunlight seemed to fade dramatically as the strange foreign light began to glow. What would that light be? A star? The...moon? An eclipse? Had the Goddess answered her prayer?

As the world dimmed around her, she could see a massive fortress standing before her. It had been there all along, glaring at her through infinite darkness. It could not be seen in daylight. Only by the unholy night could anyone see it and find the entrance to it...

-

Davita blinked.

One second ago she had been standing outside the fortress. But now she was inside and she had no idea how. It took her bloodied eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness indoors.

_And how she wished she could have gone blind. _

Elune! Her mistress was lying on the floor, her body hideously mutilated. The only thing Davita could still recognize was the face--Maiev's soft silvery eyes that were filled with so much pain. The pain of not being able to die when she was already so close to leaving. Bending over her were demon guards of every kind, smiling maliciously at the newcomer standing in the middle of their hall of feast.

Davita became aware of what the bloodied things strewn about the demons' feet were--skeletons, limbs, broken bodies of the thirty Night Elves who had abandoned Maiev for death. How ironic that they should all end their lives together in the torture chamber of ferocious demons.

"Maiev?"

Davita heard the name coming out of her lips. Could that mess of blood really be the warden whom she had been trying to rescue? Where were the rest of her limps?

The warden turned her head slowly, and looked at her with so much pain that shook her very core. Aye. This suffering soul belonged unmistakably to Maiev.

The huntress held up the found blade at the demon guards, "Let her go, you monsters, or you will suffer me!"

It was a joke, nothing more.

The band of demons started to move towards Davita. One stride at a time, pushing her one step backward towards her own death. Demon lips curled up in greed and lust, but the glove fist that held the round blade trembled without control. The huntress could feel her opponents' foul breaths on her, stinking, poisonous, frightening...she tried to draw back, but it was not long before she found herself with her back to the wall. The demons lunged at her, shredding her clothes, clawing at her flesh, ready to feast on her blood when suddenly...

"Hold!"

There came a voice so masculine and strong. The demons fled in all directions as a shadowed figure moved across the room.

_There is always a bigger fish, so the saying goes, _Davita reminded herself, swimming in tears. _Of course there will always be a viler demon._

"Who is the girl?" asked the great shade.

"The last of the Betrayer's kind, Master of Agony."

"Ah," the demon stepped forward to reveal himself. Davita imagined him only to be about Maiev's height, but his muscular body could be thrice the breadth of hers. His skin glowed with a strange metallic tint, and in place of arms were sharp bladed wings. His eyes had a sickly white sparkle to them as he studied Davita with intended interest.

The huntress was almost certain that she heard wrongly, "What do you mean the Betrayer's kind?"

"You are a Night Elf, are you not?" the Master of Agony moved across the room with amazing speed. He was now standing right in front of Davita. " Illidan Stormrage destroyed our Lord Magtheridon. For that, he and his people will pay."

"Wait! We Night Elves were sent here to hunt Illidan down. We are in no way on his side," Davita meant to argue, but in face of a demon with great powers, the words just would not form.

"It doesn't matter," the Master of Agony raised a bladed arm, ready to strike her on her head. "We shall rid Outland of his race and all his servitors."

"No!" the huntress screamed. "Back away from me! I command you in Elune's holy name!"

The demon's blow did not come. He merely laughed a mirthless laugh, "Your deity has no jurisdiction in this place, little elf. In this dimension, I am your god and you shall beg for my mercy."

"There is no god I know of who would torture mortals so cruelly," Davita took the opportunity to slip behind him--but she knew that there were far too many demons in the hall for her to escape. Yet the merciless insult the bladed demon gave her Goddess and her faith angered her enough to shroud her fears of him, "You are a demon, nothing more. You shall govern over nothing."

There were a few gasps from the guards.

"Bold words," the Master of Agony raised a brow as he turned around to face her. "I admire your courage, little one."

"You sick demon bastard," she moved away from him, still holding her round blade in front of her. A few demon guards attempted to come forth and hold her captive, but the Master waved them away.

"I admire your determination as well." With one click of his fingers, the round blade seared with intense heat. Davita had to drop it, and watch as the Master recast it into the shape of a curled ribbon. He pointed, and the blazing blade flew towards the Night Elf and stepped her on the shoulder joint. She stumbled backwards from the pain...but as it passed, she realized something else--that new flesh had started to grow immediately around that blade, and she could control it like a new limb.

A new limb indeed.

She choked on her surprise, "What are you doing to me?"

"I am going to kill you slowly," he replied with a menacing smirk.

-

Positioned like predator and prey, the Master of Agony and Davita moved about each other in circles. This was a match with an all too obvious result. Davita would die, and the Master was to emerge victor. With a scornful voice, he asked, "When you came inside, didn't I hear you threaten my servitors for the release of this pathetic wreck?" The 'wreck' he referred to was Maiev.

"You did," Davita hissed, letting her rage shine through. "Her name is Maiev Shadowsong, and she is not some pathetic wreck."

"The same to me," the Master waved a hand in dismissal. "She will be nothing when I am done with her anyhow. But what would you give in exchange for her freedom? She must be someone important to you for you to have come so far to her rescue."

It was impossible to tell what he was implying--she had to be cautious with her words. What could she give for Maiev's freedom indeed! She had nothing left save her life and her soul, and even though she knew she would lose both of them anyhow, it was hardly comfortable to say it.

"She is my leader and my only friend," she replied carefully. "I'd do anything to see her free."

"Your leader, you say?" the Master said over scornful screeches of demon laughter. "She is no more than a feeble loser. We overwhelmed her much too easily."

"She is sick, don't you see? She is not weak," Davita cried. Could anyone be more merciless than demons at all?

"A sick leader deserves to be cast aside," the Master motioned for one of his minions to come forth--a doom guard with a long, heavy blade in his grip. He approached Maiev who was not even able to struggle.

"No!" Davita chose between throwing herself over Maiev and attacking the Master of Agony. Horror and hatred pushed her towards the latter. She pounded his chest furiously with her fists, but they were useless against such a strong demon. She moved her third blade arm--his gift to her, but he blocked her attack with a swipe of his sword wings.

Too late.

He opened a deep crimson wound in her chest.

She barely even knew pain as she toppled over lifelessly, feeling her own blood pulse away from her body. As she began to lose consciousness, the last thing she remembered seeing was the doom guard removing Maiev's head.

-

**_ "She knows what she wants."_**

**_ "But do you?"_**

Somehow, she knew the voice that spoke to her in her dreamless sleep was the same as that she heard while she was consuming the corpse of the felhound--the one that called her an 'eater of demons' and hypnotized her. It was the same voice that made her lose Maiev and the same voice that belonged to the Master of Agony.

Somehow she knew she should have been dead, but she slowly regained consciousness and found herself half buried in crimson sand.

Somehow, she found her body much too heavy for her to move--it was as though her whole being was coated in heavy armour.

**_"She is not sick."_**

**_ "You are."_**

Managing to finally twist her body over, she vomited onto the ground. Whatever that had been in her stomach was green and bubbling. At the sight of the fluids, she retched up something more until she felt hollow inside.

But a strange feeling struck her.

She did not feel quite like herself.

Who was she anyway?

She looked inside herself and heard two pulses beating--she had two hearts. She searched in her mind and found two sets of memories.

And two sets of loathing for the demon called the Master of Agony.

But who was she?

She/they promised the Master of Agony nothing, but only said that they would try and hunt Illidan Stormrage down.

But in their minds, they were planning their perfect escape. Together, they would find a way to open up a portal and force their way back to Ashenvale.

Back home.

They would never return.

And if ever they did, the Master of Agony could be expecting his own end soon...

-

**J A/N**:

If you haven't looked at my drawing yet, don't. You wouldn't like it anyway. Wanna bet?

Ahhh I've almost fallen to page 2 on the FF Warcraft page!! Look at all those updates and new stories!! I've tried to write quicker, but obviously didn't succeed. Sorry about truncating this chapter again...there's supposed to be something more, but I thought it would make this chapter ultra long. But I've got half of it written up, so I think I will be updated pretty soon...and this time I mean it.

Saw the short story contest on SE. Good luck with it, Eternity, Forever Jake and QotH!! I wish I could vote for all three of you!!

**Demongod**: Maiev couldn't really fit into anything else other than a Night Elf since she kind of hated everybody else who are non-Night Elvish--example: she's not in the least bit sympathetic to Drak'thul which bothered me a little when I first played the game. Her leaving Tyrande to die and lying to Furion had totally, totally turned her into a character I despise--but she, by all means, is a very powerful character that Blizz invented. It seems unfair that nobody ever mentioned what happened to her after Illi left Outland. And there's nothing wrong with IllxMai at all, and it's twisted, hey. But it's just been done for a couple times and I want to write something different. Anyway, the vile tormentors in the last chapter were super vile tormentors controlled by some forces of evil--they're different. Illidan could have used some of his super demon strength or metamorph to kill them all, but your guess is correct. He didn't, because that would give out his identity. Nope. This fic will not only be Sylv's flashbacks. You'll see. And I saw your story, though unfortunately I'm not familiar with Soul Calibur. I'll try to read it.

**Queen of the Harpies**: Thanks. RG's Illi x Vashj really freaked me the author out as well, and I think that's when I kind of started to like Illi. Everyone likes him better when he's coolly evil. Ah, thank you about the battle scene. I really did try, but battle scenes can get hopelessly boring after writing WarCraft fics for 2 years. (Sigh) Maybe I shouldn't complain and just come up with something more interesting. (Tries to close mouth unsuccessfully and something green and slimy leaks out) You know, the story titled 'Test of the Princes' that I've been talking about but haven't uploaded yet is supposed to reveal another side in Syl before she became RG of Silvermoon, and I'll be hoping to surprise a couple people with it. (Closes mouth). Thanks for your support anyway, and thanks for liking SylxIll when no one else seems to be enthusiastic about it.

**GG Crono 4**: Haha. You're absolutely right. But just keep in mind there is always a bigger fish.

**Tom**: Thanks for your support.

**Arthus**: Thanks.

**Crimson Paladin**: Hey. I hope this chapter answered your questions about the vile tormentors. Thanks for your support.

**Inaam07**: Hey. Thanks. Leprecha definitely _HAS_ to appear soon cuz she's the main character. Shouldn't let the Black Warden steal the show! I sense a good fight between Nerz and Syl in W.O.W., and I'm actually dying to know who will eventually emerge victor. Wouldn't it crappy if the end result varies depending on which side you're on when you're playing W.O.W.? Wouldn't it suck even more if neither of them won? Arthas...Illidan's newest slave. Good. Go for it!!

**Rowan Seven**: Thanks. I certainly need some luck. I don't think I'll be doing anything else particularly drastic to the Horde in the rest of this story or I'm quite certain someone would assassinate me. I'm watching out for that.


	5. Challenged

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**A/N**: I hit a block again (usually happens at around chapter 4 of every story I've wrote/am writing). I've spent some time over on Shattered Enigma, and I wrote up the first part of another Warcraft fic titled '**Jenalla**'. It will be here as soon as I complete the first chapter. ****

**-**

**CHAPTER IV: ****CHALLENGED **

**(DESOLACE, 7 MONTHS AFTER SYLVANAS SAILED FOR KALIMDOR)**

_Perhaps the hardest fear to conquer was the darkness that preyed upon one's mind..._

Thrall had no way of telling how or when the battle would end, or if there was any chance at all the Horde should triumph against the foul legion of demons. Uncertainty clouded his mind, preventing him from seeing what signs that had been shown to him.

From across the darkening battlefield came a screeching roar filled with terrible hate and terrible pain. The last fading sunlight barely glinted as it touched the Warden's black armour. She charged with her bladed arms outstretched, cutting through those standing in her path--allies and foes alike, feeling nothing as severed body parts were cast into the air and spattered all around. It seemed as though, she, an unholy being enveloped in evening's darkness, was oblivious to all else but her own burning rage.

"Take her down!" Thrall commanded, trying to keep his own fear under control, but it deceived no one. The Warchief had to back away in spite of himself. Could this be the end of his city and civilization? Was this his outrageous damnation? In his terror-clutched mind, he could think of only one thing--one solution. "Take her down first!"

Some of the orcs responded to his order. Some others responded to his fear. He swallowed hard and attempted to pull himself back together. Letting out a low roar, he raised his warhammer and darted towards the Black Warden. His troops echoed to his battle cry and moved to surround the leader of their enemy, advancing in a uniform wave.

"No! Stay away from her!"

Thrall barely heard Sylvanas's protest over shouting voices and clashing blades and only sooner came to understand how little he knew about his enemy. The Black Warden began to spin. Her silvery cape flared out around her, fanning out like--wait. It was a visual deception! A shower of throw-knives flew towards the orcs, knocking many to the ground.

_A voice in Thrall's head, forceful, authoritative...funny that he should feel compelled to obey... _

As though they were being knocked back by an invisible wall, the orc warriors altered their formation--a number of the grunts fell back behind their comrades. Some, however, continued to march forward and tripped over their fallen brothers in their final attempt to strike at their enemy.

The Black Warden dug a spiked boot into the barren soil and stopped her motion. The face of pallid purple beneath the helm betrayed no emotions as she eyed three of the grunts that landed tumbling at her feet. Before they could get up, she brought her blade arm down with one swift swing. Dark bubbling blood splashed upon clay in an arc.

Howls of pain and rage shot through the air and stabbed straight into Thrall's heart. They died terrible deaths, his warriors, and it was_ his_ mistake.

Another raider made a leap towards the warden with his curved blade raised. But his attempt would prove useless...

Almost casually, the Warden raised both hands in the air and whispered a spell word, "Blink."

"Ahhh!"

The raider landed with his face in the dirt. His weapon snapped against the hard ground. His moaning mount laid a foot away from him.

-

The Black Warden vanished.

...and reappeared in front of Illidan who was crossing blades with a vile tormentor. He managed to spin around and block her blow when she swung her blade at his head. Nothing could escape the ears of a blind Night Elf, that was true. But a blind Night Elf could never escape from _justice_.

She drove her bladed arm towards him--and hit air when he evaded. She merely missed his shoulder by an inch, "This one is for Maiev!"

_Maiev..._

Illidan parried her forceful attack. He already sensed the vile tormentor making a move from behind--let her try her luck. With a cry, he pushed one of his curved blades backwards and wielded the other one to counter the Black Warden's blade. The vile tormentor behind him faltered, her stomach split open with an ugly gash.

_Maiev..._

One down. But Illidan dared not lax his guard. The Warden was no easy opponent. Even as they fought, he could sense her deep anger and her determination to see the end of him. He could not but feel a chill down his back--he barely even knew the reason.

_ Maiev..._

Memories started...there was something about this warden. Something important...

_ Maiev..._

Yes. He should know who she was--had been. He should have seen her somewhere before. There was something familiar in that shell...

_Perhaps it was the armour..._

_ Perhaps the aura..._

_ Or the name she spoke of..._

He cursed.

As though he was being thrown against a wall, a sharp pain in his right wrist flared to life, almost causing him to drop his weapons. What recollections that flooded into his mind were suddenly gone from him and he could think of nothing but pain.

_The scar left by Frostmourne burnt white hot. _

The Black Warden's lethal blow came swiping upon him as he was rendered momentarily senseless by the pain.

Sylvanas's arrow forced its way through the weakness of her opponent's armour. The Black Warden slowed her attacks and clutched at the end of the arrow, giving Illidan the necessary time to recover and pull away from her. Apparently, though the Black Warden appeared to be soulless, she could be hindered by pain. Another two elven arrows cut through the air, and the Warden disappeared again.

"I sensed it," Sylvanas cried as she moved towards Illidan. "It was Ner'zhul's power at work!"

"It was," Illidan responded with a nod and meant to comment on it. But his words turned into a warning. "Sylvanas! Look out!"

"Ugh!"

A throw-knife jammed between the Dark Lady's bowstring flexing fingers.

The Warden materialized in front of her, "Move, Windrunner Witch. Or I would have to execute you!"

Sylvanas gritted her teeth and forced herself not to wince from her injury. Blood was running in streaks from the wound where the knife was still embedded. Even though it was hardly life threatening, broken finger bones would mean the end of an archer's battle--if not her career. But Sylvanas would not give her enemy the satisfaction of destroying her. In a defiant voice, she asked, "I wonder what I have done to deserve execution."

"For defending the Betrayer, rogue and evildoer, I have every right to put you out," the Black Warden replied shrilly. "Hand over Illi--"

A silent spell hit her, and the demon warden's words caught in her own throat.

_So close. You were so close. _Sylvanas's expression seemed to say as she cast her bow away and raised her uninjured hand in preparation for another spell--she had to let her enemy know she was fully capable of fighting a war with her magic, "What have you come here for? Need you kill all the orcs and take them for your slaves?"

"You know very well," The Black Warden pointed a bladed finger at the former demon hunter. "Release him to me! The price to pay for--"

Sylvanas attacked her with another silent spell. She would have to protect Illidan's identity from the orcs' knowledge if she were to protect herself and her child.

Instead of trying to speak again, the Warden blinked and found her way behind the Dark Lady who already saw through her intentions. She siphoned energy from the Warden in hopes to weaken her enemy--but she was not quick enough...

The Warden's blades were brought down--and they met with Illidan's weapons. He parried another of the Black Warden's attacks and kicked her in the stomach, sending her sprawling across the clay. Panting heavily from exhaustion, he turned to Sylvanas, "Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing," the Dark Lady lied--Illidan wouldn't be able to tell how bad her wound was anyway. She knew better than to pull the knife out. Fingers were much too delicate for such careless treatment--she wished fiercely Mondelv was with her.

The Black Warden pulled herself up from the ground, defying the degree of her injury. Her purplish blood tainted the soil--more was still leaking from beneath her copper armour. But she stood straight, staggering a little at first, and glared ferociously enough at her enemies to make them panic, "Release him to me!"

-

Thrall twisted his neck in the direction from where the Black Warden's scream came. Her screech would surely haunt him for a few nights--if he managed to survive this battle at all. But something else--a realization much more horrible crossed his mind. The Black Warden had not come to destroy the orcs. She came looking for _Terrorblade_ and his Dark Lady. They obviously had some conflicts between them. Clairvoyant powers might explain how Sylvanas knew of the Warden's coming, but it did not explain their strife.

There was no time to worry, however.

"Warchief! Look!" Rexxar rushed to Thrall's side and pointed at a direction. Thrall turned to find the warden's druids transforming into fierce bears with quills flexing out of their bodies--huge, mutated and unfeeling monsters. Their claws were, like those of the vile tormentors, bladed and sharp. They stood straight on their hind legs--they towered over even the Kudo beasts. Like frenzied demons, they dashed towards the orcs.

"Spirits!" Thrall cursed. "The City will fall!"

"No, Warchief," Rexxar shook his head and pointed at a group of orcish warriors who rushed towards the giant bears in defiant valour. "Our brethren are still fighting. We shall not let Orgrimmar fall tonight."

-

Sylvanas willed the orcs to obey her, but their rising fears proved too chaotic for finer control. Or perhaps her skills were not polished enough. She had never tried to move a huge army that had no telepathic connection to herself. The difficulty made her--though she hated to admit--marvel at Ner'zhul's skills in the Battle of Khaz Modan they fought, in which she lost more than a quarter of her troops to his control.

She managed to move eight orcs in front of Illidan and herself to hold off the possessed armies while they paused to catch their breath. She had just lost sight of the Black Warden amid the advancing druids, though they knew they could trust her to reappear at any time.

She gasped when Illidan suddenly put his arms around her.

"The enemy forces are vast," he bent to whisper in her ear--it took her a second to realize he was making use of the opportunity--a feigned lover's concern, to discuss battle strategy with her. "The orcish city would fall if this is to be the case. Bring the Forsaken hither. They can chase the demons away from the city and deal with them outside."

"We've been through that before," she protested, struggling between breaking away from his embrace or not. "I do not wish to alarm the orcs any more than they already are."

"With so many demons here, they wouldn't be able to tell the difference! Just bring them in and let them do the fighting."

True. If the Forsaken slowly diffuse into the city, the orcs would naturally assume they were enemies. But they would never have guessed that the undead were on their side. If Sylvanas was careful not to let any of the orcs touch her warriors, it should be all right.

"You have a point," she agreed.

Smiling, he mouthed, "Of course I do."

He let go of her and pierced his curved blades through a feral druid that attempted to make a leap at Sylvanas. "I'll give you cover while you summon them. As soon as they are here, fall back and pull out of this battle. You have done more than you should have."

She nodded and did not argue. This pregnancy of hers was holding her down and placing her in more danger than she would like to admit. Even though she could still defend herself, almost anything on the battlefield would induce a miscarriage or kill her. She was exhausted as well, held back by the burden under her heart.

Breathing consciously, she raised her hands in the air. Energy escaped from her, sprawling beyond the desert lands, weaving a ribbon of power. The spell was whispered, carried by the desert winds to the outback.

Slowly, one by one, dark shades floated towards the orcish city. Crypt fiends revealed themselves from beneath the soil in small groups. Ghouls and abominations crept towards the scene. And among these new arrivals was a towering vampire whose wings were redder than blood.

Blue fires flared to life around Sylvanas, forming a glowing shield. The magical lights were so bright that it drew attention to her. The orcs were looking at her in fear and uncertainty. The demons growled and stomped the ground.

She repeated a sequence of the spell--her tone varied each time, her voice steady and flowing like music from the ancient past. A crescent rune glowed on her forehead and then projected up to the sky.

A chunk of the earth crumbled dramatically, creating a small rift valley. Some of the Warden's demons were trapped in the new depression, unable to climb back up again.

_ Same old trick_, she thought to herself. Many years ago against Arthas and the Scourge, she hurled a wooden bridge into the river. Now, she pushed the block of earth under with the same spell, and it was enough to make the orc Warchief gasp and marvel at her power and precision. _Not one single orc was hurt in her __incredible __spell. _

Many, many banshees came into view, screaming, wailing, surging towards the battlefield to crush the followers of the Black Warden with their cursed songs. Warriors paused in shock--orcs and demons alike. Some of them began to falter and covered their ears when the ghostly songs of the banshees pulsed through the night air.

_Some__said that when the dark songstresses sang, one could hear their accursed voices __resonate__ the deepest truth--something so terrible that it was impossible to face. Those with weak wills would be driven mad, and those who withstood it would find their hearts permanently scarred with the cruellest truth of themselves. ___

-

**_Sylvanas! Dark Lady!_**

The Dark Lady turned as she heard her own name called. She tried to respond, and yet she could do no more than to make her lips tremble. The battle had drained her strength, and she felt as though she was slowly falling apart.

**_Sylvanas! Dark Lady!_**

Her visions began to blur and swirl into colours, and then to lights, and then...

...and then to a face she knew so well.

** _I am waiting for you to return to me..._**

Pain whipped across her arm. She watched crimson droplets splash across her tunic in utter astonishment, as though it never registered in her mind that the blood was her own. She cried out without knowing why she did so, and time seemed to freeze completely around her.

The Black Warden appeared once more before her, catching her by surprise. _Another score for the demon. _

But the expression on the Night Elf's face was panicked, not triumphant. In the brief moment, while the two stared at each other, there, suddenly, came mutual understanding.

_They were both slaves to the ones they hunted--the ones who controlled their hatred and terror._

"Go away!" Sylvanas heard herself screaming--but the words meant nothing to herself.

**_Sylvanas! Dark Lady!_**__

And the torturous voice continued to whisper in her head from far beyond...beyond death and sorrow, haunting her, willing her to do his bidding, murdering her...

She moaned and writhed, reaching to grab something that would hold herself together. But there was nothing but air. Nothing.

**_Return and become...you cannot try to hide._**

****A hand...lifeless, pale, strong--a warrior's hand. It was her only salvation. She grasped it tight and tried to beg for deliverance. But the words just would not come. Her mind was held in spasms of pain that never seemed to end, and there was but one voice she could hear.

One face she could see.

One truth...

It was as though the banshees were singing just for her, their voices ringing in unison from the far North beyond.

**_I am waiting for you to return..._**

**_...to Frostmourne..._**

-

Gentle breezes dispersed the ominous mists of the night. The world had gone completely dark now, illuminated only by the mercy of the moon. Strength was gone from the men, so was valour and hope. Demons and ghoulish creatures, too, seemed to have diminished in number. Some of them were even fighting among themselves, driving each other out of the city--cursed beings of evil as they were.

Thrall looked around. Suddenly, the ground he stood upon seemed almost devoid of life. Orcish warriors littered his path, side by side with possessed armies and undead creatures. He would not estimate the damage done to that part of Orgrimmar. It was just massive--too massive he could not measure it. Too many have died without even realizing the cause.

Even now, the sounds of blades clashing seemed less intense--suddenly Thrall figured that the banshees had also stilled their songs. Instead of their accursed voices, a dreadful silence came to brood over the deadened land.

_Terrorblade? _Where was he? Where was the Black Warden? Where was Sylvanas? Thrall blinked and willed his eyes to focus in the dark. There were no signs of the three.

Something caught his attention as he turned--it was the Nathrezim, standing very still he might as well be made of marble. His pale skin reflected moonlight. Thrall gasped and grabbed tighter onto his hammer. He wondered if he had strength left to combat this vampiric hero.

The dreadlord shifted his position to defend himself--there in the clutch of his giant white hands was the Dark Lady. Sylvanas did not look too well--she seemed to be unconscious and bloodied. Where was Terrorblade? Was he not supposed to look after her? Thrall felt pain enter his heart--had Sylvanas trusted someone unworthy?

_What kind of man would risk his pregnant lover on the battlefield?_

But in any case, Terrorblade would be too far off to aid Sylvanas. There was no one else left to help her. Thrall picked up a chipped axe from the ground and threw it at the dreadlord.

The Nathrezim folded his wings in front of himself. The weapon pierced through one of his blood red wings, but it did not do him much damage. It did not make him release Sylvanas.

But the shock that pulsed through Thrall's body awakened him--what if he had missed and hurt Sylvanas instead?

"Let her go, demon wretch and fight me man to man!"

"You understand too little, orc," the dreadlord's yellow eyes gleamed intensely in the dark, but they unnerved Thrall no more than his strangely collected voice. "I might fight you, but not tonight."

"What are you talking about?" Thrall swung his hammer--with more caution this time. The Nathrezim shifted his footing to receive the blow squarely on his shoulder. Something snapped--it sounded like bones. Thrall could not be sure, but somehow he had the feeling that the vampire did not want Sylvanas hurt.

"Not tonight," Varimathras shook his head, not even flinching from his wound. He tossed something burning to the floor--a magic scroll. Flames consumed the skin immediately, sending yellow sparks everywhere as a blue rune appeared beneath his feet.

"No!" Thrall protested--but it was a bit too late.

The dreadlord disappeared.

-

_It was very close. _

Varimathras had to breathe a secret sigh as he laid Sylvanas on the soft moist earth beneath shades of palm. He had teleported sufficiently far from Orgrimmar--perhaps even a little too far. Well, damn the coward in him. He was not going to risk Sylvanas again.

The rust of her warm, fresh blood entered his nostrils, and he realized she was injured, unconscious and defenceless. His eyes, he knew, must have started to gleam yellow and his fangs bright crimson--such was his instinct when he was ready to feast. But not on Sylvanas. Never on his mistress.

Seeing her in this state would have delighted him five years ago. He could never forget his shame when she defeated him in a contest of arms. He had been so terrified of death he surrendered to her will. She made him murder his own people--though he never had much love for Detheroc, he was kin and Varimathras would never forget how he betrayed a Nathrezim. Balnazzar was like a brother to him, but he had to kill him as well, or else the Dark Lady would have taken him apart piece by piece.

Back then, five years ago, he would have said that he hated Sylvanas. And he did. If she had been as badly wounded as she was now, he would have tortured her and left her to the wolves. But he could not now. She had perhaps stripped him of a little more than his identity as a Nathrezim--she took away some of his arrogance and overconfidence as well. He saw that beneath her mask of cruelty, there was a brilliant warrior and respectable general. He saw her courage even in hopeless situations. He had been given a chance for vengeance--and because of what he realized from her, he rejected it. He chose to follow her and he would live by that choice.

He felt he had grown stronger after training under her command. He had learned what was worth fighting for and what was not. He had learned about promises and, most of all, to honour them. Imagine how anyone could be not moved by her courage to brave Kil'jaeden's torture chamber for that chance she might free her people from his control. She almost gave her life for that decision, but she succeeded, and Kael'thas and the Blood Elves were forever rid of the demonlord.

He was stronger than Sylvanas now. She was weak and broken. Now, he would protect her as she had protected him through those five years.

_But he was also terrified inside._

He knew he almost lost her back on the battlefield. There was a moment when he was too busy fighting to sense her distress--that sudden moment when she broke telepathic contact with him. There had been a burst of energy, as though a greater power had intercepted that psychic connection between them. Overwhelmed by the void that immediately filled his mind, Varimathras looked around in search of his mistress. For seconds he saw nothing. It was as though she had disappeared from the world completely. And then, movement behind him caught his attention and he turned to find the Black Warden. Held under the demon's blade was Sylvanas who appeared to be oblivious to what was going on around her.

He darted to her rescue and managed to get her out of the way in time. The Warden's weapon opened a cut on her shoulder, but it was not life-threatening. Varimathras, however, was alarmed by how little reaction his mistress showed--oh, by everything dark, she responded only when he held her small, broken hand in his own. She squeezed his fingers so tight that her crimson blood poured through them.

A name then escaped from her lips--spoken very softly.

_He still shuddered at the thought of it._

Did Ner'zhul send the Black Warden? The dreadlord could be certain he had seen the Black Warden during the great battle of Khaz Modan. He fought her. Had she been sent by the wicked lich king to take Sylvanas's life? But given the previous strife between the two, Ner'zhul would definitely have come to finish her himself. He would not likely allow his subordinates this satisfaction.

Soft rustling of the wind made the dreadlord turn. He would have gasped when he saw Illidan standing beneath a palm tree with little expression on his face. Elves were known for being able to move soundlessly, but he had not expected them to escape his other sense. Although Illidan was blind, he seemed to know perfectly where his ally was standing.

"I figured you'd teleport here to this outpost, dreadlord," the demon hunter spoke. He just barely managed to pull himself out of a tough duel. His blood tainted weapons laid on the floor by the palm tree.

Varimathras sniffed the air and cursed under his breath. Like Sylvanas, Illidan was also covered in his own blood, "How bad are your injuries?" He_ had_ to shift his gaze back to Sylvanas to keep himself from being distracted by the stench of blood. Perhaps this was truly what he was unnerved by--that even strong warriors such as the Dark Lady and the demon hunter themselves could have been badly injured in the battle. How frightening were their enemies!

"I'm fine," Illidan shrugged. "And Sylvanas?"

"The cut on her shoulder is deep. Best hope the blade wasn't poisonous," the Nathrezim replied with a sigh. "Her fingers are broken as well."

"That must be why I didn't hear her bowstring flex for quite a while," Illidan remarked, stepping forward with his arms crossed. "Where is Mondelv? He should be able to help her."

"I was wondering about the same myself. He is supposed to be guarding this outpost, but I do not see him," Varimthras scanned the area with his sallow eyes. But with so much blood around him--blood that he knew he could never taste, it was hard enough to concentrate, let alone keeping his sanity. "I can't see him anywhere. He must be...wait! I smell orc flesh!"

An orc was approaching, and Varimathras could almost be certain it was the same one who confronted him a while ago, when he was trying to deliver Sylvanas to safety.

A rare expression of alarm crossed the demon hunter's face as he paused to listen briefly, "The Warchief."

"He has been following me," Varimathras started to move. "I'll leave, else he'd find out you are with us."

But Illidan shook his head, "No. Fight me, dreadlord. He suspects me as much." The demon hunter picked up his weapons and moved swiftly towards the Nathrezim. "Help me with this, and act like we're in the middle of a combat."

"But Sylvanas..."

"Leave her where she is," Illidan instructed quickly without waiting for the dreadlord to finish his lines. "She'd be fine."

"What I mean is, can you trust the orcs?" Varimathras phrased his question, "If the Warchief finds her, he'd definitely be taking her back to his own healers. She is wounded, and she and her child might be in danger. Can you trust the orcish healers enough?"

"When had I ever trusted an undead healer anyway?" Illidan argued.

The Nathrezim was silenced. This from the mouth of someone who was once undead--he, of all people, should know how things were. But despite the fact that Mondelv was one of the best healers to walk the world, undeath had taken respectability from him. Undeath had taken respectability from almost everyone.

Thrall was approaching, and they both sensed it.

Everything would depend on their act--if Thrall bought it, everything would happen according to plan. Yet if it failed, the orcs would probably not be able to defeat the Forsaken, the Naga and Satyrs put together, though they would prove to be a big obstruction and could throw Sylvanas in even more peril.

"Very well," Varimathras took a step back and flexed his giant claws. His shattered shoulder pained him, but he would not allow it to hinder him.

Illidan's double blades were quick and precise, but the strokes he made were not meant to be lethal. Despite that, Varimathras had to work hard in order to leap clear of the attacks. He flung a glob of sizzling energy back at his opponent who cast an immolation shield to diminish the impact.

The orc warchief was running through the palm forest now, probably alerted by the sound of the fighting.

"Come!"

The dreadlord roared.

He knew what he saw as he turned to meet Thrall's enraged eyes. They told him all he had to know. He had been taken for an enemy, and he knew the orc would never give up until he saw the end of him.

"Terrorblade!" Thrall darted to Illidan's aid.

"Warchief!" Illidan turned in his direction and cried out in pretended relief. If Thrall had been paying more attention, he would have noticed that Varimathras stopped attacking for a moment. "Please take Sylvanas!" Cleverly, the demon hunter diverted Thrall's attention. "Please take her to safety."

The orc did not seem to realize yet what he was saying, "You shall not stand alone!"

Illidan repeated his request with much feigned pain in his voice, "Sylvanas is wounded. Please take her to the healers. I fear she is not doing well."

Thrall immediately found Sylvanas who was lying in the darkness. He ran to her side and took her pulse--her heart was still beating, to his relief. With one last glance at Illidan who was now again caught in battle with the vampiric dreadlord, he shook his head.

Illidan was right. He had to make sure Sylvanas was safe even if it meant leaving an ally to fend for himself. Sighing, he carried Sylvanas and hurried back to the heart of the city.

-

From the depths of haunted shadows, Mondelv Windrunner watched with an impassionate glare. He could be certain of nothing. Frittered years spent caught between death and life had opened his eyes to naught but one truth--that one could never trust to hope. Fate was much too uncertain, and it happened that he had to learn it the hard way.

Like Sylvanas's broken fingers--some wounds might heal and some might not. There was nothing, even for a skilled healer, to claim for sure. He _never knew_ that there could be something far more complicated to life than simply birth and death.

_But there was one thing he knew of in his deadened heart. _

When one should cross path with a demonlike in his lifetime--be it one like Ner'zhul, Kil'jaeden or even the Dark Lady herself, it would be the worst joke fortune has to play on him...

-

**A/N**

Jeez...my author's notes are definitely getting longer than my chapters.

I know, it's my fault I didn't update. Unlike most writers, my writer's block usually happens when I have too much stuff I want to tell at once and I can't decide which to put first. Don't worry. I will complete this story (_at least_).

Thanks a bunch for your reviews. Really appreciate them.

My special thanks to people over on SE. You guys really enlighten me a lot.

It's time for summer school, and I will be moving back into dorm (yes, that one with armies of spiders and no fridge--I heard they've installed internet and are going to charge us extras without consulting us. But that's another matter.) I'll be gone for about 2 weeks. I hope my updating rate will be back to my former once-a week schedule.

-

**Queen of the Harpies**: Um...your new story actually inspired me a lot to write the last part of this chapter. I haven't written from Varimathras's perspective for quite a while--of course my Vari will never be as _hauntingly charming_ as yours (and I don't intend for him to be anyway :D). Twisted pairings are good especially if they are well-written. And hey, I've resumed working on **To Honour**, and I think I _have to _shift the focus a bit (meaning, rewrite the first chapter). I don't know what happened, but all the War fics I'm doing seems to increasingly have something to do with Sylvanas. Blame it on my growing obsessive fandom.

**Crimson Paladin**: Thanks for asking. Actually Illidan is 'cured', and is now restored to what he looks like before he drained energy from the Skull of Gul'dan. He looks kind of like a normal night elf now--except that he's exceptionally muscular HAARHAAR. And THE QUESTION: Will Syl cheat on Kael? Check out new episodes of Temptation Island in Orgrimmar. I'd say that Illie was just a bit confused. He's STILL thinking about Tyrande all the time. And just think of "becoming Nerz" in a less literary sense. After all, (1) Nerz already has Arthas's body, and (2) I'm not going to write SxA romance. Hope that helps.

**Arthus**: Mmm...I'll be trying. Thanks for your support.

**TheReviewer**: Ah...that's okay. The hell about Geocities hosts!! Thanks for reading. I haven't been writing happy stories for a while...

**inaam07**: Um...may the best demon win .

**DemonGod86**: Thanks for your support. Oh, but don't we all feel bad about Maiev ending back there in Outland?

**GG Crono 4**: Thanks. Master of Agony...would be a self-invented character with self-invented rank--unless, of course, I've missed a Pitlord in the canon again. More descriptions of him later.

**Weirgate**: Wow. I'm flattered. Thanks.


	6. Illidan's Interlude

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

-

**ILLIDAN'S INTERLUDE******

Illidan's hands felt their way across the soft mattress to where Sylvanas was lying. Only an hour ago had he 'escaped' from the dreadlord, bloodied and exhausted, and stumbled back to Orgrimmar in time to catch the Forsaken driving the last batch of the black army away. The air was choked with much grief--there were so many deaths, and they had all been pointless.

The Black Warden was gone--not defeated nor killed, but gone. But she would return to wreck more havoc.

_ When would she stop? _

The orcs proceeded to clear the battleground of the dead, carrying off their own and setting fire to the broken bodies of demons and undead.

Sylvanas was trusted once again under the care of the midwives who fumed at Illidan for his irresponsibility as a lover--_he did not deserve her_, they said, and he probably did not. But she and her unborn child would be fine. Her battle wounds should not take too long to heal.

How was he to describe the complex feelings in his heart? The torturous anxiety he felt for the woman who was lying unconscious before him?

He reached to touch Sylvanas's face_._

He still remembered the way she looked that morning when she roused from her deathlike slumber and marched into his base to confront him--and she had been senselessly enraged because he saved her life! _Or her undeath, _for that matter_._But that image of her face seared forever into his mind, haunting him, amusing him, and he felt compelled to touch her, to 'see' more of her with his hands...

No! He shook his head and withdrew his hand. What was happening to him? She chose to fight alongside him merely because he was of use to her, nothing more. It would be too vain of him to expect anything else from her. Perhaps Sylvanas Windrunner would risk death for love, but he was certain it would not be for him. What was happening to him? Had he plunged too deep into this pretence to snap out of it? Had he finally convinced himself that he was her lover? _Well, wake up, Stormrage! _She was carrying the child of another man.

_Heartless, heartless...Tyrande...how you have destroyed me..._

Illidan dragged himself to the basin across the room and shoved his head into the water. He felt better. At least he felt his mind become clearer.

No way. Sylvanas would never be anywhere near the priestess. In his heart, there would always be a place for Tyrande. If ever her proud and perfect highness should change her mind and return to him...

He let the water drown his hurting and wash away his frustration.

_He was desperate. _

He knew he would never have Tyrande--it was only a fool's hope. Sylvanas needed Kael whom she had chosen to leave for a time. So, why should he not allow it to happen?

The feel of the ranger's bandaged hand still lingered, because it reminded him of the last time he and Tyrande touched--a heartbreak and heavenly blessing, when they laid side by side on the soft grass after an emotionally exhausting night. Tyrande had been with him, and he was touching her hand, also bandaged in soft linen.

He remembered why it was injured. It tried to stop him from hurting himself.

Long had his brother objected to him becoming a demon hunter. According to Malfurion Stormrage, demon hunters were profane sons-of-darkness with their sacrilegious ways. Nine out of ten demon hunters ended up becoming demons of some sort themselves. He refused to let his brother join the order no matter how Illidan tried to prove him wrong.

Illidan did try his very best to comply and sought Cenarius's tutorial in the arts of druidism.

But when he returned home from his druid's training one fateful night and saw Furion kissing Tyrande, he picked up his dagger and left without saying a word. Tyrande went after him--she should have left him alone to cool off, but she did not.

He stabbed himself in the eyes.

Two...

...firm...

...strokes.

In absolute horror, she gripped the bloodied weapon with her bare hand...

But he was stronger than her. He hurt himself, and he hurt her.

An alarmed Furion hit his brother with his stave. Unable to see the blow coming, Illidan caught it in his temple and lost consciousness.

_ Perhaps that was how jealousy became hate. _

_ Perhaps that was how guilt took shape._

_ Perhaps that was how injuries were aggravated to leave permanent scars._

Illidan could no longer fight, or even take care of himself properly without his sight. Tyrande took it upon herself to help him, but she was caught between the brother's feud. Malfurion avoided Illidan for as long as he could, yet he realized that Illidan's cripple was his responsibility. What was he to do? How could he help Illidan live by himself again? He knew of his brother's love for Tyrande, and yet he could not relinquish her--it would be worse than giving his own life.

The solution came when Firebrand, the Head of the Demon Hunter's Code, paid the Stormrage brothers an unexpected visit. _The Code had been observing Illidan for a while and found him to have the talent. With the proper training of a demon hunter_, Firebrand told them, _he could become independent again. He could become a great warrior. He could make himself useful._ Left with no choice, Furion had to let Illidan go. It was a decision he knew he would always regret.

And the night before Illidan had to follow Firebrand west to the sanctum of the demon hunters, Tyrande took him to her favourite refuge in a remote corner Elune's Shrine--a small open courtyard she named K'litah-Eluna--_Little Moonglade_. The two of them laid there and stared at the stars until they fade to morning.

Illidan could only stare, but he saw nothing.

"I just want to say that I care for you, but I..." she whispered and paused, as though she was uncertain what to say. But he heard her heart. And he did not want to hear it.

"What does the stars look like, Tyrande?" he interrupted, reaching towards the infinite darkness he had known to be the sky. "I have forgotten how they are."

"Illidan," her voice was tortured, she might have been crying. But he just could not care right then, not when she was about to tell him she chose his brother.

He urged softly, "Tell me."

"They are small but a plenty, high, and bright..."

"How bright?"

"Illidan, please," sobs escaped her throat. "Please...I'm sorry." She had been so young then, so confused just like himself. He held her hand gently in his own, her injured hand, and pressed it against his lips. She replaced her hand with her soft supple lips. He did not kiss her back--if he had, they would have embarked on an entirely different fortune. But he just pulled away and wished her well before stumbling on his way in the dark.

_Oh, Tyrande..._

A soft moan pulled him back to Sylvanas's beside. She was waking, and he also needed to come round. Tyrande would not need him now, but Sylvanas would. He soothed her feverish forehead.

_How he wished he could have taken that path and be on a wild ride with fortune. He could have been with the love of his life now, could have been safe in her arms._

He snorted. It was but a fool's fantasy.

He clasped Sylvanas's injured hand gently in his own and thought about stars as he waited for her to rouse.

-

**A/N**:

Just a short interlude at 3 am.

Tyrande OOC? I'll admit it, but considering that little romantic scene took place more than ten thousand years ago, she probably wasn't that tough then. I mean, you've gotta give the Stormrage brothers some reason to be crazy about her.

Damn I still have a class to go to at 8 in the morning...(yawn).

-

**Crimson Paladin**: Thanks. I actually prefer writing endings that are generally happy with a little bit of regret. A few years back, I used to love character-atrocities (meaning: kill everyone at the end), but not so much anymore (because you can't write sequels if everybody's dead). The fact that Sylvanas was changed again into an undead isn't the end of her--it's the middle of things (ahh...). And certainly the orcs would have some way of hearing about Illidan, especially after their alliance to the Night Elves. He's the infamous evil twin of Malfurion, right? But Syl and Illidan were just being cautious anyway. Thrall wouldn't find out anything about Illidan until it is...too...late...(shuts up before giving out the whole plot). You're going on vacation? Do I envy you!! Have tons of fun!

**Queen of the Harpies**: Thank you. You're definitely right, there's nothing wrong with all fics being Syl-centred. Almost all my fics are elf-centred already, except **Listen**. I certainly think Varimathras is another one of Blizzard's great inventions. He has a pretty convincing character and isn't quite the stereotypical superhero. It seems that my muse, too, has been giving me lots of weird tinkling romantic visions lately...I'm just having strange ideas again.

**DemonGod86**: (rolls eyes curiously) What is 'gee eff gee'? If Illidan was all powerful, it wouldn't be very nice, don't you think? Patience is one thing he kind of lacks, so that's what he'd be learning in this fic.


	7. Revealed

BLOOD LEPRECHAUN

by

**Her Majesty J Cae, New Crowned Queen of Nazjatar (and DO NOT forget that)**

* * *

**A/N**: I humbly beseech your lordships and ladyships to grant me your most compassionate forgiveness, and allow me to give my thanks for your patience. I have been transformed into a Naga by a violent magical storm that flooded my dorm and blasted Azshara to the bottom of hell. My blue scaled hands have outgrown the keyboard and I keep on missing all the keys. Since then I've been inhumanly busy...uh...searching for a remedy to reverse this malady but to little success.

**I REALIZE I AM DOOMED TO 10,000 YEARS OF PROCRASTINATION.**

(shakes fist at the burning legion of demonic profs)

**MUST BE YOU DRATTED MORTAL SURFACE DWELLERS!! **

But here's an update to reward you readers for your patience. Yes, yes, yes, Kael is back, and my OC whom I've been talking about for the last 10 years will finally make herself known.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE: REVEALED**

**(QUEL'DARA, 13 YEARS AFTER SYLVANAS SAILED WEST) **

"There are..._questions_ I would like to ask you, Kael'thas."

In the dark adorned throne hall, the undead queen glided forward, her boots barely touching the cold marble floor. Her long silvery hair brushed past her face as though a breath of frigid air surrounded her. On her eyelashes there seemed to coat a shadow of frost--or was it a mere figment of Kael's imagination. He shuddered in spite of himself.

_She must be frozen to the touch._

She drew closer to him unhurriedly, yet he could not but shrink back from her. She carried no weapons on her, nor did she show any intention to attack, but something cautioned him. Beside him, he saw his general Iria also tensed, pressing a hand to her bow.

The young sorceress behind Sylvanas also alerted.

_ Who was she_? Kael's gaze shifted momentarily upon the spell-caster. Her dark brown hip-length curls cast neatly down both sides of her shoulders, framing a face so fair and white it seemed to be carved out of marble. Her violet robes fell in orderly folds to her ankles, and she was wearing black soft leather boots. A sword was belted to her slender waist. The magical energy coursing in her veins, he could tell, was just as dark as her hair. At a glance, she did not seem to be of elven heritage, yet her lithe and graceful form did not resemble that of an ungainly human either. Perhaps she was a half-elf?

Her bright emerald eyes focused sharply into his. The urgency contained in them seemed to be sending him a message of sorts.

Not without effort, he drew his attention back upon Sylvanas, "Before I answer your questions, tell me what happened to our child. Did you take him to Lord Stormrage and the priestess?"

"That, I trusted to Illidan," she answered in a tone that held no more warmth than ice. "I can tell you no more."

"Did Illidan take him to Kalimdor then?" somehow, the elven king had never trusted the demon hunter as much as she did. He braced himself for the worst sort of response.

"I do not know."

"By the Lights! You are his mother!" Kael raised his voice, knowing that he would somehow regret using that tone with Sylvanas--but then, she was no longer the Sylvanas he once knew. A terrible pain contracted his heart. For thirteen years he had waited for her--anguished years spent in waiting! He would not mind in the least bit if only it had been for a purpose. The news of her return elated him, but at the same time cursed him to endless purgatory. Not like this--this was not what he had been praying for. This was not what he was ready for.

All that he hoped for was gone from him, and she _had_ to be the one to cast everything away. He would have understood if he knew she never loved him--it would not be the first time he was sentenced to unrequited love. But they had been through so much together, they had been so close to having everything--and he had been so certain she was all that he wanted!

He thought he understood how important defeating the lich king was to her--he let her go, taking with her his heart and his trust. All right, she returned as an undead. He would still welcome her with open arms--did she ever realize that he had begun to love her long before she was brought back to life? He would try in any way to restore her, but if he could not, he would willingly suffer through eternities of undeath with her.

But what now?

"I can see it, Sylvanas," he whispered--these few words he never thought he would say, a truth that was harder to articulate than anything he had ever realized, "You just don't care at all."

"I have my reasons for not caring."

He almost wanted to ask her what they were, but there were things best left unexplained. Overwhelmed with emotions, the words just would not come, "What...what did you name the child? You can...at least tell me that."

_The name_--the only thing that he would be able to find out about this child he had loved for thirteen years but never even met.

"Tianithan," the undead queen whispered slowly. "Tianithan Windrunner."

* * *

**(ORGRIMMAR, 2 MONTHS AFTER THE BLACK WARDEN WAS DRIVEN BACK)**

The smudge of defiant pride did not leave Samuro's face even as he was summoned into the Warchief's workroom. Spirits forgive him if he pushed his rights a little. He and Thiong had managed to subdue the brutish humans for the second time and came up with a plan for a massive counter-attack. Thrall was always hesitant about sending troops to Theramore Isle, but he should be no more--Samuro was certain this plan of his would guarantee victory, and he himself would emerge hero of the Horde.

"Greetings to you, Warchief."

"Blessings," Thrall replied, standing from his desk and extended his arms to greet Samuro. The blademaster bowed deeply, and--paused. Suddenly he realized Thrall was not alone. His gaze met the cold scrutiny of a high elven woman seated at the opposite side of the room. He could tell she was recovering from childbirth, as she was in an orcish woman's grey gown. But it was unthinkable why she should be allowed to set foot into the Warchief's workroom, let alone sitting there like an honoured guest. The impassionate stare on her face told him that her hands had been wet with orc blood before--probably she had been in the Second War.

Samuro expressed, "Warchief, I do not mean to be rude, but I was hoping we could converse in private?"

Seeming to read his doubts, Thrall explained, "Ranger Windrunner is a friend to us orcs. You may speak freely in front of her."

"But Warchief, she is..."

_A Windrunner_, he meant to say. _Windrunners__ had killed countless orcs in previous skirmishes between them. _Thrall was young and probably did not know the histories too well, but he should know that Windrunners were their sore enemies.

"You must be civil to the lady who helped defend Orgrimmar," Thrall cautioned him. "During the invasion while you were absent, Lady Windrunner has put her life at risk for the sake of our city."

"Understood, Warchief." Turning to Sylvanas, the blademaster bowed, "Pardon my lack of manners."

All three of them in the room knew his apology meant nothing. He resented the scene before his eyes--an elf woman invited to the Warchief's meeting indeed! Had Thrall lost his sense? It would not scar the blademaster's conscience if Sylvanas died fighting for the orcs. He would not give a damn.

Samuro almost disliked Sylvanas immediately. He was doubtful of her intentions even after hearing Thrall explain again of his decision to let her remain in Orgrimmar with Illidan. He feared her power and ambition. He feared that the Warchief might be placing too much trust upon her than it was safe.

_But little did he know then, that it would be Thrall who eventually betrayed Sylvanas into the hands of Ner'zhul_--

* * *

**(QUEL'DARA, 13 YEARS AFTER SYLVANAS SAILED WEST) **

Now night had finally taken the last bit of light, and darkness shrouded the throne room. Kael did not bother with lighting a candle. He could see so much clearer now.

He might have wanted to listen to how Sylvanas forged a fragile alliance with the orcs and fought against the Scourge. He might have wanted to know how she was eventually betrayed into the hands of the foul lich king--oh yes, by the orcs. But he could see it clearly now, that it all happened to someone else. Not to the woman he loved.

_He asked her to stop._

"Now that you know what I have done after reaching Kalimdor," the Queen of the Forsaken trained her grey bleak eyes upon the elf king, her gaze penetrating into his very soul. "Will you tell me what you have been doing all the while I was gone? I presume you wouldn't have just sat around and waited for my return." A cold shadow of a smile played upon her lips. Kael knew she must be savouring the anguish expression on his face--she should have known the answer all along. He had been waiting for her.

"Don't scorn me, Sylvanas," he rose to his feat unsteadily. Iria almost wanted to go over and help him, but he waved her away. "Don't make a mockery out of my torment. What I have done for the past thirteen years indeed! I've been believing in you. But now I see I have made a mistake."

A pained expression suddenly crossed the face of the young sorceress behind Sylvanas--Kael thought it reminded him of someone even though he was certain he had never seen her before. But by the Lights! She was so young! He reckoned her to be no more than sixteen. How could she have known such pain? How could she understand his anguish?

"I have believed in you," Kael repeated, averting his gaze. "But I have also been expanding the city. I have returned to Quel'thalas and eradicated all remnants of the Scourge. I have returned some of the stranded refugees to Sunstriders's rule. I have re-established our ruling body--your brother is running the Windrunner's council."

"Let the remains of the Scourge rot for all I care!" Sylvanas exclaimed so suddenly, he felt himself trembling from the hatred in her voice. "The Scourge is no more. Ner'zhul has lost all power!"

"But you said he killed you, didn't you?" he almost wanted to grab her by the shoulders and ask her to make sense out of everything she said.

"That is true--" she narrowed her eyes, seeming to sense his intention and took a step back. "He had me tortured for months--nay, probably years. He had me trapped in his necropolis of death, keeping me from seeing the light of day. He mutilated my body and bounded my soul, bled me, hurt me, until I was on the verge of dying...until then when..." her voice trailed off into a sneer. "He has lots all power now."

"He is...dead?" Kael suggested, almost hopefully.

"No, by everything dark and evil, no. He is not dead. His spirit is strong and cannot be destroyed. But I have taken all his power. Still, his ghost walks for a chance of vengeance, but he is not a threat anymore."

"What happened..." the question formed on his lips. He did not understand a word of what she was saying at all and he wondered--the woman's life and soul were gone. Was her sanity also taken from her?

"Don't ask! We have no time to lose now. Just content with this answer--that an old friend of yours intervened and helped me turn the wheel around."

"An old friend?" immediately, all possibilities flowed into his mind. Could it be any of the elven generals? Remaining members of the Kirin Tor? Shan'do Stormrage and his priestess? Illidan himself--ah, but it could not have been him if she put it that way. Kael could not recall now anyone of his 'old friends' who could still be alive...

What of Maiev? Was she lost in Outland or had she returned to Azeroth to aid Sylvanas in her quest?

"Come with me, Kael," Sylvanas's tone was suddenly enthusiastic--he could not say that he liked it at all. "I have always wanted you to come to the Undercity--the stronghold that I have built upon Ner'zhul's capital. You have to see it with your own eyes to know the splendour of it."

"I guess--but why?" he was doubtful of her intentions. But if she had wanted to kill him, she had probably done so already--unless, of course, she wanted to torture him first.

"Why?" deadly anger now seeped into her voice. "Because Quel'dara is burning down. You cannot stay here, else you'd burn in the fire. You and your people must leave with us or perish forever. I will have your allegiance before I wage war upon the orcs for betraying me into Ner'zhul's hands."

"You are out of your mind, Sylvanas!" he readied a spell. He never though he would have to fight her--but what difference would it make now even if he killed her on the spot. It would not change the fact that his city was burning to its frames.

He had no choice in the matter. If he was not king, he might have chosen to follow her to the Undercity, shut off his conscience and do whatever she asked of him. But things were different. His responsibility was to his people. He could not let her do anymore damage to Quel'dara nor put the lives of his people in peril.

Outside, he could hear the Forsaken's horns blare to life. The attack had already begun.

"Do not fight me, Kael. It is useless, you know. I offer you a way of life--follow me and fight by my side as you have once done."

"You have never lost Kael'thas's allegiance," he told her coldly, "until now."

"Pride," she mocked venomously. "Is it funny how pride works against us even in desperate moments? But you'll do well to remember this. I come to wipe out your city and civilization, and you are spared only out of my mercy."

"What have you become, Sylvanas? You have tried to defeat Ner'zhul, only to have become him. You are no different to what he was."

"Such was my failure--my fate," she made no attempts to justify her actions. "I was weak then, therefore I must give way to a stronger. Now, the wheel has turned around. He is no more and I am him. Serve me, Sunstrider, or perish."

Furious energies gathered in her palm and balled into a sizzling orb. Like an excited glow-worm, she let it escape and dart into midair, rising higher and higher until it reached the domed ceiling--and erupted into blinding brilliance. Almost immediately, the frame of the roof caught fire. Blue eerie flames coiled and sprawled across the ceiling and rained down into the throne room, fuelled by the unending darkness that had come to conquer the last asset of elven civilization.

Iria moved in front of Kael'thas and fired her weapon at Sylvanas, but the young sorceress produced a gleaming stave from beneath her robes and melted the arrows before they neared her mistress. The Queen of the Forsaken hurled a glob of energy at the general and sent her sprawling to the floor. Arcane words came to Kael's lips...

"My king!" the door to the throne room was bolted open, and royal guards entered with weapons in hand. Kael recognized the scruffy-looking rider, Khecomo, among them with twin long knives in his hands. The purple-garbed sorceress spun around to face them with her flaring stave in hand--her confidence alone was almost enough to knock back a few lesser warriors.

Iria shifted and attempted to get up to Kael's relief, even though her wounds were not of light degree.

A burning chunk of the roof crashed onto the marble floor between the elven king and the Dark Lady. Sylvanas did not even flinch. Kael looked up and saw undead faces peering from the hole. Before he realized what was happening, he felt death ate at his flesh and recoiled in pain--there was a death knight up there on the blazing dome. Two by two, Forsaken warriors leapt from the roof and landed in the throne room. They outnumbered the elven guards.

Khecomo was swift on his feet. He lunged at the sorceress who blocked his twin blows deftly with her stave. She had to be well-trained to withstand Khec's famous attacks. Her sword clanged at its scabbard, but it was strange that she did not draw it. Pulling herself to a safe distance for a spell, she summoned two rock golems to block Khec's path before calling an artificial blizzard down with a graceful wave of her arm.

The death knight kicked an injured Iria away from his path as he charged across the room at Kael with his runeblade raised. The elven king could still tell from his rotted features that he had been of human heritage--yet again. Kael thought to use flame strike against the fallen human, but that would only speed up the destruction of his throne room.

Flaming debris continued to rain down, and the roof looked as though it was about to collapse at anytime. Kael worried for his own mortality--his hesitation was taken advantage of by his undead opponents. The death knight's forceful swing created a wound upon his shoulder.

"My lord!"

It was an archer's cry. She unleashed her deadly arrows and struck the death knight through the weakness of his armour at the armpit. Her shot would have killed a mortal man, but it did not seem to affect the dead one in anyway. He returned a death coil, killing her almost instantly. Though Kael could have done nothing to prevent her sacrifice, he was grateful to her for giving him the time he needed to slip away from this opponent.

If this was a ballroom, then the guards were all partnered to doom, waltzing across the blood-splattered marble floor into certain death. Warriors swayed in time with the cries of pain, swinging around in graceful but lethal Volta steps.

Kael had never known what the venom of a runeblade was like until he tasted it--this was what Sylvanas had been cursed to suffer so many years ago when Ner'zhul first took her soul. He did not know what vile enchantments the death knight used against him, but it was unwelcoming. He began to see...beyond the living flesh and blood army who were fighting against the rotten walking corpses. He thought he began to see spectres of tortured souls hovering. The wound on his shoulder barely bled. It merely stung and burnt...

He hardly notice when someone crept up to him from behind. A slender arm went round his neck--it was warm. So close to him now his captor was he could feel her breathing on his skin. Her soft robes seeped faint fragrance of wild flowers. So close to him now was a face so fine and flawless, neither elven nor human but something else together. His breath caught in his throat, not only from her inhuman beauty, but from the sight of her stave sizzling with unholy energies.

"Ishnu-alah, King Kael'thas," the sorceress whispered in his ear, her voice, like her appearance, young and soft but contained so much more behind it. "I'll explain later, but I won't let them hurt you. I offer you freedom, but do what I tell you now." Quickly--and almost cleverly, she added, "Ah, the contradiction."

It took him seconds to realize she was speaking fluent elvish.

Suddenly, Sylvanas's attention turned upon the young woman. She left alone a royal guard she was fighting who seemed to be grateful he did not have to meet his end so soon. The Dark Lady glared at the sorceress questioningly as she paced herself towards the captured king. As if held immobilized by unnatural, awesome power, the warriors on both parties ceased to fight. The elven king was in the mercy of the sorceress, and the undead queen was enraged. "Let go of him," in a low warning tone, Sylvanas spoke.

"It doesn't have to end your way, my queen," the sorceress shook her head. Her tone was civil, not insolent. "I could kill him now and end Sunstrider's reign. You can take up the crown." Her arcane stave flared with an even more brilliant light. Kael wondered if he should still believe in her--it seemed to him a good time to struggle.

Sylvanas seemed concerned now--not about him, he knew, but about losing an ally against the Horde, "You wouldn't dare touch him." She raised her undead hands and weaved a spell against the girl who shrank herself completely behind Kael, using him as a shield.

"You will release our king now!" Khecomo cried, stepping forward despite Sylvanas's icy glare.

"He's the rider who took us here, wasn't he?" the sorceress asked Kael who nodded. "Tell him to summon his mount."

But before he could give his orders, a large portion of the roof caved in. The girl dragged him aside in time to avoid being hit. Kael had to marvel at her strength--she managed to move him with the force of one arm.

"Khecomo, summon your dragonhawk," Kael commanded.

"My king?"

"Do it!"

Sylvanas narrowed her undead eyes, "My gargoyles will tear your mount to shreds before you leave the city."

"You forget, milady," was the sorceress's reply, pressing her stave closer to Kael.

Khecomo did as he was told.

"Your general, your Majesty," the sorceress motioned at Iria who managed to drag herself out of the way and was leaning, bleeding against the wall. "Call her to your side. You will need a brave warrior who would sacrifice her life for your sake."

Iria's wounds had zapped her strength and she was unable to move by herself, but Kael had the rider help her. She did not delay, but glared distrustingly at the girl.

Undead warriors moved to surround the group. Kael hoped that the young woman knew what she was doing. In capturing him and going against Sylvanas's will, she would have drawn the wraths of both the elves and the undead upon herself.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the Dragonhawk soared over the huge burning hole in the roof. But gargoyles--hundreds of them, waited to feast on its flesh. Just as Kael was wondering how they should get onto the mount, he heard the sorceress whisper a spell. Why--teleportation? Why did she call for the dragonhawk then?

Just as the throne room faded to white around him, Kael thought he saw what remained of the roof collapsed into dust. Denial was upon his lips, but he could not be certain if he actually sounded it. He would not worry about the Forsaken--their Lady Sylvanas would take care of them. But the royal guards--his people were gone and he never even had a chance to help them...

* * *

**_(...get ready for a 3 page-long A/N)_**

**TEASER**:

**Kael****: **(scrolls through reviews) Um...a lot of people seem to be interested in whether you and me will get back together, Syl.

**Syl****: **Get back together...with **_you_**? That's nice, but no thanks. I'm fed up with J's awful scripts.

**Kael****: **All right already! **_Who else_** would you rather go with then? You're gonna have to end up with somebody.

**Syl**: Geh! I don't have to! I'm an undead feminist if you haven't already noticed!

**Kael**: You obviously have no choice since this is an Action/Adventure/Romance fic, and you're the heroine.

**Syl**: I'm gonna email J and tell her not to stick me with Thrall (sends email).

**Kael**: Good idea. I'm gonna tell her to do exactly what you don't want her to do (sends email).

**Syl**: Then I'll ask her to make you and Tyrande a pair (sends email).

**Kael**: Don't mind if she does (sends email).

[**Illie**** & Malfie**: Tyrande is mine!! (send 29,087,665,432,898,798 emails altogether)]

**Syl**: Eh, maybe not Tyrande then. You're with Davita (sends email).

**Kael**: You serious? Okay. You go with Rexxar (sends email).

**Syl**: You're with a kodo beast, amen.

**Kael**: (-censored-)

**Kodo**** Beast**: No fair! I can't...type...drat!!

**Syl**: Just kidding, Kael. You and Leprecha (sends email).

**Kael**: Arrrghh! But too bad J doesn't do Mary Sues!! You and Nerz!! (pauses before hitting send button...)

**J Cae**: (walks around) Jeez...I seem to be getting tons of weird emails lately. Any idea what's going on?

**Syl**** & Kael**: (innocently) Spam. Must be spam.

**J Cae**: Aw...You two are just _so cute together_. Thanks, guys, I'm so inspired!! (walks away to write more fanfiction, singing to the tune of the Corr's 'Humdrum') ...lalala I have visions like no other / so romantic you'll discover...

**Kael**: So...that's you and me again, huh, Syl?

**Syl**: That should answer the FAQ of the month (sighs).

* * *

**A/N**

Nazjatar is all peace and beauty now that nature's might has finally rid us of Azshara and her dratted wails of self-pity. Why, 'tis a blessing to be Naga, methinks. While drifting amid the currents, my serpentine Majesty has come up with a companion story titled **'My Grave, the Ocean'**, a standalone prelude to the RG series. Ah, the contradiction--not a very optimistic title, I must admit. But call it a little anniversary celebration. You can get a preview of **MGTO**'s prologue on SE or WarCraft III Forums, but My Majesty will also upload it here. I'm so darn close to finishing the first chapter!!

**(/ End Naga Queen J Cae mode)**

I totally have nothing to say to defend myself if you think I made too many empty promises. So many ideas, so little time--I have like 10 fanfics on hand and I want to work on them all at the same time. Drat...don't have that many hands and brains. But I'll definitely complete **BLOOD LEPRECHAUN** before my death--if I don't, you are definitely welcome to come kill me (but then I'll be dead already **_mEEp_**). And please do read **MY RUINS** if you've nothing better to do. Please? I'll cry if you don't...not that anyone cares, er but anyway, I'll really appreciate it.

Thank you again, all readers, reviewers and drawing-viewers. You're all so awesome. A Vashj portrait and a Leprecha portrait are coming.

* * *

**GG Crono 4**: Thank you. You're really nice to me for not (cough) complaining about the pace with which I update. I'm trying to make myself write faster--I think I'll really need to do that, especially now that I'm in summer school and won't have all week to figure out what to do with my chapters.

* * *

**Roy**: Thanks.

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**DemonGod86**: Haha, blame it on Blizzard. They said demon hunters have to ritually blind themselves, so I imagine it to kinda happen like that--except that Illidan wasn't yet a demon hunter. Sophocles can sue me...too bad he's dead. I guess Illidan would have had become a demon hunter before he was thrown in jail (but I haven't finished reading Blizzard's **Well of Eternity** yet, so I don't know). What you said reminds me of the Count of Monte Cristo who kept his eyes closed all the while he was jailed so that he wouldn't be blind when he got out--but I don't think it will work tho. Yup, I know Tyrande was OOC, but she'd be so boring if I stick to the canon--allow me this little freedom (actually, Knaak's portrayal of her in **WoE** was a little better, at least she wasn't like hopelessly uninteresting). By the way, thanks for reading **My Ruins**.(The last sentence sounds obscure if you read it out).

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**inaam07**: Thanks for the long reviews from you. Of course I wouldn't mind. I really appreciate it. You've raised a good number of points about the canon. I am really not a big fan of Maiev, but I think better of her now. My disliking for her has somehow diminished. Maybe I do pity her after all, if I try to look at her the way I did in **Chapter Three: Devoured**.

And I didn't like the idea of Horde x Forsaken either, but I guess it's too early to tell. We probably should wait until after they released W.O.W. Anyhow, I've decided to delve into the uncharted territory of W.O.W. because of Rowan's parody which inspired me a lot on the interaction between the Forsaken and the Horde.

Tyrande **SURELY** still have feelings for Illidan. In fact I don't think Furion deserves Tyrande--but then I always opt for the underdog in triangle relationships. I mean, if Furion had been the one singled out in the canon, I would have to help him out (meaning I'd have to write him fanfics...or probably just love letters to cheer him up). Okay, I actually have a whole theory about Tyrande, but I don't think I should bore you with it. But that would be what I base her character upon in my fics--a pious, uncertain and somewhat naïve person, and probably I'll prove myself right.

Thanks for reviewing **My Ruins** as well.

* * *

**-A Thousand Lies-**: Thank you, if you're reading this, for reviewing **My Ruins** on both and Unofficial War 3 forums.

* * *

**I)void**: Of course I remember you!! Thanks!! I started drawing when I was 15--I wasn't any good then. I guess it's years of practice that paid off. Well, all I can say is, no matter if it's writing or drawing, just start. And don't give up no matter what :).

* * *

**BoB**: Thank you. There are no plans yet to update **Listen**, since I currently have my hands full of fiction. But I might review it.

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**Murg**: If you're reading this, thanks, too for reviewing** My Ruins**. I still like your fic. Wish I could write like you. 


	8. Emblazoned

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**A/N**: Hey people, my story 'My Ruins' made it to the Featured Story POLL on Shattered Enigma! Please vote for me (or it, heehee). Head to

www . shatteredenigma . com (no spaces in between). Gracias!! Luv ya!! Aaand...

**WingchumonZERO**: Geh! My eyes!! I didn't see your review when I last updated. My apologies for that. Thanks so much for reading (hugs WCMZ).

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX: EMBLAZONED**

** (ORGRIMMAR, 2 MONTHS AFTER THE BLACK WARDEN WAS DRIVEN BACK)**

Illidan could almost envision how Sylvanas's soft, smooth skin would glow in the gentle light of the moon.

With her warm body spooned against his, she laid with her head rested on his chest. Her deep, easy breathing told him she was finally asleep--well, she deserved rest. It was only ten days after she gave birth, and her strength was barely recovered. She had not been sleeping well--perhaps she had not been sleeping at all.

He could certainly understand her reluctance to develop a bond with her son--she would not sleep with the baby in the same hut and instead left him with a nurse. Soon, she knew, she must leave for the death and chill of Northrend and it would have been much easier emotionally if she had no regrets over her choice. But deep down, she knew that leaving Tianithan **would be** her greatest regret.

Illidan asked her to reconsider--it seemed cruel even to him that she should deprive Tianithan of his mother. They both knew the chances she was taking in challenging Ner'zhul even though she refused to admit it. She tried to reason with him and stated that she was at the pinnacle of her power and would defeat Ner'zhul so that Tianithan would grow up safe from the Scourge's terror. Their discussion turned into heated debate. Illidan wondered why he bothered to get so angry at her--she was Kael's lover and Tianithan, her child. It was hardly any of his business to begin with, but he felt he almost could not allow her to do as she pleased.

The quarrel between them ended abruptly earlier in the night when he told her he was tired.

He stretched out on the floor and exhaustion immediately came over him. But something nagged at his conscience and he could not find rest. He just could not tell what it was.

On the mattress at the other end of the room, Sylvanas was not getting any sleep either. He thought he could hear sighs and silent tears. She was not completely indifferent to his point, he knew. No mother could abandon her child without guilt. He laid there and listened, unsure if he should offer her comfort. But he was too proud to give it, and she would be too proud to receive it anyway.

Finally, the mattress creaked softly to indicate that she got off it. Her footsteps were soundless except to elven ears. Illidan thought she would head outside. But instead, she crouched beside him. He would have gotten up. But somehow, he laid there and pretended to be asleep, while his keen ears were listening for sounds of her movement.

_Or was she waiting for him to wake? _

"Sylvanas?" he hissed.

He heard her nightdress whisper.

And then she was lying on the floor beside him with her head on his shoulder.

No thoughts entered his mind for a moment. Then he wondered if he should put his arms around her or push her away.

Suddenly he realized he could not remember the last time he was so close to someone before. It had nothing to do with her resting against him. It was not physical. He certainly had his opinion about her. She was _the frustration_ in his life at the moment and she got on his nerves more than anyone had ever done so since he sailed across the damned sea with her. He had no idea what possessed him then, but he had been grateful to her for restoring his life enough to volunteer himself an escort. He had not seen the endless aggravation coming.

But at least he understood her now.

"Sylvanas..." he whispered, choked with emotions suddenly. He wondered if he should be bothered by this embarrassing intimacy they shared.

"You know, Illidan," she whispered, seeming to be oblivious to his inner turmoil. "Tianithan's skin has a soft purplish hue."

He made no comment. The pain in her voice raked his heart.

"His eyes are blue like mine, and his hair is golden, like..." a sob caught in her throat. _Like Kael's._

"He is so soft to touch," Sylvanas continued. "Lights! I didn't know an infant could be so light in weight."

Illidan had to agree with her. He had never held a child until Tianithan was born.

"But this...creature," she whimpered, "this babe is...life."

_All right_. He put an arm around her shivering shoulders.

She responded by hugging him tight, "Just holding him is enough to make me think...that leaving is a sin." The coarse orcish fabric of her garments brushed against his skin.

"It's not too late to turn back," he sighed softly. Secretly, he was marvelling at how warm her body was against his--she had always been quite detached from him. "In truth, Kael..." he paused at the name, "he would be quite pleased." It was strange to speak about Kael when they were lying so close together and sharing so much. Sometimes he was confused and he had to remind himself that she was not his lover.

"I have to go," but she declared, failing to hide the bitterness in her tone. "I can't live with myself if I do not. But I can't live without Tianithan either."

Her tears dampened his tunic. He let her weep her pent-up frustrations and tried to console her, "You can wait until you decide."

"I do not want to change my mind," she breathed.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, struggling to keep his temper from flaring, "What do you want then?"

_ Silence._

He thought he was rude and ought to apologize, but his pride kept him from doing so.

But if she was damaged by his impatient outburst, she showed no signs of it. Her mind was preoccupied with greater agony, "I want you to take Tianithan and leave while I'm asleep. Could you...please..."

He did not even think twice, "Aye, I will."

They laid side by side in silence for another long while, until when he felt her head loll to a side, and her strawberry-blonde curls brushed softly past his shoulders. She was asleep.

He breathed a soft sigh and stroked her cheek. He knew she was exhausted. He knew she did not want to wake.

He carried her back to bed.

Then, his thumb slid gently down to her bottom lip. He traced the outline of her mouth, so soft and supple. She was going to battle Ner'zhul alone and she might never return. Even if she did, she would return to Kael's side, and Illidan would probably never enter her thoughts again.

There would be no future between them.

"Just rest now," Illidan whispered. "The pain will pass."

Bending over her, he brushed his lips against hers in a kiss as soft as rain.

And then, he took his leave for Ashenvale.

Once more, the demon hunter was free. Once more, he should live for his own cause again. And yet somehow, he thought he would miss that part of himself he left behind, trapped with a half-crazy woman he might have loved.

This was the last contact that Illidan Stormrage and Sylvanas Windrunner had before her life and soul were claimed again by the lich king.

* * *

**(ON THE WAY TO ASHENVALE)**

_ Here he came. _

An owl cooed amid the shades of willow draperies, drawing the Black Warden's attention back to her hunt.

She pried apart the branches at the top of the tree and lifted her eyes to the full moon's glow. She was in a very old forest where the canopies were thick enough to block out any light. It was as if the trees wanted to hold between their claws an eternal night.

She could smell the scent of rain wafting slowly towards her. In another two hours, rain clouds would come to conceal the moon. She would not mind a rainstorm. It was the downpour inside her head that she needed shelter from.

Sometimes, she wondered why the Night Elves bothered to worship the deity who chose the moon as a symbol of herself, so inconsistent and aloof. Just as she waxed and waned with the seasons, she could but bestow on mortals incomplete lives.

She brushed away some curious wisps that played amid the shadows for a better look at the clearing she had chosen for a battlefield just below. They scattered like light.

The glade beneath was a completely different world. The thick white trunks of ancient trees soaked up the ethereal glow of Elune and reflected it upon the clearing.

A leopard growled somewhere at a distance. She almost thought she could hear its jaw snarling though she knew she would not find it. The vile tormentors were speaking to each other in the language of the demon world--chains of sounds that resembled predatory beasts grunting.

"Mistress, we are ready."

In the dark, a dozen pairs of glowing eyes fluttered open from atop the trees.

The Black Warden grunted a reply.

_You will be mine, Illidan._

The thought brought a smile to her lips. At last, vengeance was hers...

The demon hunter did not pause as he made his way into the clearing. He suspected nothing. Grass rustled quietly against his knees as he continued walking, seeming to be at complete ease with the surroundings. She fought the urge to leap from her tree and rip him apart, but she must wait...

_Now!_

She descended quickly and soundlessly from her tree and landed almost on top of him--curse his keen ears and elven reflexes, he stepped back just in time. But she managed to open a gash on his shoulder before he turned around and drew his weapon. She smiled as she heard his wound sizzle from the effect of her poison.

Why, only one curved blade?

With the other hand, Illidan freed a bundle on his back and guarded it in his arms. Her demon eyes could not make out what it was yet, but she knew it was important to him anyhow. She would take it from him.

She roared a command, and the vile tormentors echoed in frenzied excitement as they swarmed from their hiding places and surrounded the demon hunter.

_Now, they would have him_.

* * *

Shifting her weight on one foot, she carefully dragged the other across the soil. One step to the right. Illidan immediately rotated to face her--she noticed the way his black silky hair reflected moonlight. It appeared to be almost white.

She knew she had caught him off guard, and she enjoyed his shock--no, terror. He was alone now--without the Dark Lady's protection. The Black Warden would see to it that he would die the most painful death.

"Why do you hunt me?" his question was a curt angry bark.

"Why?" she mocked, her lips spread in a sneer, "Why? That is all you ever ask! Why did I fail? Why did I let my brother chain me up like a slave? Why did I not kill him? Why? Why?"

"No doubt you are a warden from the Barrow Deeps." He persisted, "Who do you work for? Malfurion could not have employed you and your foul legion of demons."

"Feigning innocence won't help," she snapped, waving a hand. "You should know very well. You are to pay for the pain you put Maiev through."

Illidan groaned and dropped his weapon as the cut of Frostmourne began to burn again. The pain held him in spasm, and he crashed to his knees. The infant in his arms began to cry from the ungentle pressure he exerted.

The Black Warden's eyes widened as she drew back from the unexpected burst of noise, "What is that? A baby?" Then, she shook her head, "Well, you can save the drama, get up and fight me. I won't spare his life anymore than I will yours."

Illidan cursed her as he got up to his feet--did she seriously think he would beg her? But damn! He needed to figure out what enchantments had been put on his wound that refused to heal! He had to somehow put an end to it!

"I'd advise you to think twice," he retrieved his weapon. His sensitive ears picked up the sounds of vile tormentors advancing. "The child's death would bring the combined forces of the Forsaken and the Sunstrider against you."

"So he _is_ the Dark Lady's child--where might you be heading with him? To your brother's? Well, this unholy creature begs for me to put an end to him."

The Black Warden leapt, swinging her blade arm in an arch. Illidan shifted his footing lithely and raised his weapon to deflect the blow. He spun around as he sensed himself approached from all directions. The legion of female demons clawed at him, tearing open fresh wounds and sucked in his blood. He attempted unsuccessfully to fight them off him while keeping Tianithan safe...

* * *

And yet, and yet...the Nubian deceived.

The secret night winds brought forth creatures that had familiarized themselves with the shadows and gave their souls to the night.

"Hurry!"

Warriors rushed to surround the horde of vile tormentors and their mistress. A spark of light erupted in the forest, intriguing as well as traitorous--an arrow, imbued with magical energies, struck the black warden through a weakness in her chest plate. She turned to catch the sneer on the female general's face. Elune's mercy was merely a misunderstood grandeur--she cared naught for mortal strife.

Another three arrows impaled her twisted body.

"Lord Illidan, we are with you," Scilla's reptilian eyes gleamed as she focused on her master. Naga warriors materialized from amid the darkness--followed by a massive army of satyrs and undead warriors.

"In the name of the Dark Lady!" Varimathras's cry was clear and impassionate.

The Black Warden cursed. _Outfoxed again by the Dark Lady.___

Her own army was concealed in deeper shadows of the forest, awaiting her order. With a sharp jerk of her hand, she signalled her sentinel owl that perched itself on a tree away to alert them. But could reinforcements reach her in time now that she was surrounded by a thousand enemies?

Naga warriors shot webs in the air, stretching them from tree trunk to tree trunk. Trapped within the knitted wires, the vile tormentors struggled to free themselves, but their efforts could but further entangle them in the snare.

The Black Warden was lucky enough to avoid the nets with a blink spell, but she had thrown herself at undead warriors who moved quickly against her. If she were to cast another, she would have to go far enough in order to avoid her opponents.

She flexed her blades and cut through a few of her enemies, but sleep powder whisked past her nose before she could ready another blink spell. She attempted to fight the drowsiness that came over her, and yet...

Demon corpses littered the forest floor. Fearing that reinforcements might reach the Black Warden soon, the alliance would have to be quick in completing their task.

Illidan waded through the bloodied mess, grimacing in revulsion as he stepped over the warm liquid and gore beneath his feet. The stench of mortality waft from the foul, broken bodies and blended with the faint scent of pine until it became a part of the silent forest, just as crimson demon blood infiltrated into the soil to become a part of the mucky earth.

The undead allies searched for living demons amid the fallen, taking great pleasure in ending their lives. Shrill screams invaded Illidan's eardrums, and he almost wanted to ask them to stop. But the battle drained his strength, and he decided against wasting his breath.

Among the moaning female demons, Varimathras located the Black Warden, panting in short gasps. A limp was torn from her, and she was too weak to resist him as he pulled off her helm to reveal a pale sickly night elven face, blistered with burns and disease. He did not think she had any chance of living past the night, and yet it was only wise not to risk leaving her alive. His giant claws went round her neck.

She writhed--the sudden burst of strength from her dying body took him by surprise, and yet he was still stronger and had her under control once more. For a few seconds, her dim yellow eyes stared blankly as though she was already gone. But her lips quivered slightly as she whispered, "Forgive me, Maiev. You'll have to wait a little longer."

Illidan grunted in pain. He handed the screaming infant over to Scilla and clutched at his wrist where the cut flared white-hot again. The sea witch attempted unsuccessfully to silence the child. She noticed a small cut on his cheek and put him in the arms of Mondelv the healer. The undead elf cast a healing enchantment--the infant was quiet again.

"You are all fools," the Black Warden's voice quaked as Varimathras tightened his grip. She no longer struggled. Across her face, there was an unnatural smile, "I cannot die as long as Maiev lives."

"Just what are you..."

A brittle snap truncated Illidan's question. Varimathras let the lank form of his victim slide into the mud.

"We best just leave it," the dreadlord hissed, his tone devoid of emotion. "All she will do is to confuse us."

It was too late for objections. The demon hunter sighed. His pain subsided almost immediately as he took Tianithan again from Mondelv. Taking his mind off the Black Warden, he figured, would make the pain go away. Her death suited him fine.

The undead elf indicated the bloodied wounds on Illidan's chest, back and arms, "Do you require my healing?"

The Night Elf reflexively backed away in repugnance, convincing himself that he heard an undertone in Mondelv's words, "No. You best stay away from me."

* * *

**(DEEP IN THE GROVE OF ASHENVALE)**

_Shan'do__, it is Illidan. He has returned to request an audience with you._

No, it is not possible. Bless his soul, but do not get my hopes high, I pray. He has already fallen. The Spirits tell me so, and they cannot deceive.

_But Shan'do, it **is** your brother, and he is very much alive. Just go to him and speak with him, will you not? He is well, and you will see._

Furion Stormrage breathed a sigh. No. The Sentinels might have been trying to cheer him up, but they should never think to play such a hoax on him. Illidan was dead to him--to Tyrande as well. The Spirits had made him see Illidan, run through by Frostmourne and left to die in his own pool of blood. He had felt immobilized by an excruciating pain--that had been the moment when he knew his brother ceased to breathe. Illidan was dead. How could he still be there in Ashenvale? How could he ever request to have a meeting with him?

Would he be no more than a wandering spirit who could not return to the Goddess's Realm? Imaginary lights playing tricks among the shadows? With a heavy heart, Furion rode to where the Sentinels said Illidan was as swiftly as he could. Even if it was just some cruel will-o'-the-wisp, he only wished he could catch a glimpse of his brother before he faded forever.

He thought of many questions to ask his brother, but he did not know how to ask. He had no words, and all the time in the world could not have allowed him to tell Illidan how he felt inside, reeling, churning within an emotional turmoil he could not escape from. How could you describe equally strong hate and love you feel for your closest brother? How could you speak of your secret joy and secret fear of finding someone you thought to be dead so long ago?

And as he was nearing the glades where Illidan was to meet him, he began to hesitate. He would die to meet his brother again, to know that he was still alive, but he was not certain he wanted the answer.

_ No, I must be out of my head. Illidan is already dead, and I have felt it in my dreams._

"Shan'do?" a druid looked at him with concern. "Are you well?"

"I am," Furion muttered a reply, though he knew he must have become so pale. Swallowing another silent sigh, he hurried past the trees into the glade where at least twenty Sentinels stood guard around a robust warrior with a high elven baby in his arms.

"Brother," Furion found himself at a total loss for words as the Sentinels moved to let him pass, "I do not believe what I see at all--wait. You are injured."

Illidan rose from his sitting position and limped forward, "It is good to see you. I will not be staying, but I have a request to ask of you." He tried to ignore the fact that his arms and chest were bleeding from the black warden's attacks and there was something burning in his veins which made him sick. He almost missed a step.

Furion caught him in his arms before he fell, "You should lie down. I'll summon a healer to look at your wounds."

"I won't be staying," Illidan repeated. "But a healer...would be nice."

* * *

**(SOMEWHERE IN LORDAERON, 13 YEARS AFTER SYLVANAS SAILED TO KALIMDOR)**

An undead bastion materialized around Kael. Before he figured out what was going on, he could hear the sorceress curse under her breath, "I knew this would happen!"

He did not know what she was referring to, but from the sound of it, it was no cause to celebrate. Three runes of teleportation glowing on the ground told them that they were being pursued. The death knight and his legion of undead appeared, intending to finish the work they had begun.

"My powers are limited," the young woman admitted hastily. "I haven't taken us far enough. But once I have another teleportation spell ready, I will cast it."

Kael made no response. It would all depend on the sorceress now and his feelings about the situation were irrelevant. He saw Iria chewing her bottom lip as she readied herself for a battle--with the degree of injury she suffered, the best she could do was to sit upright on the ground and fire at will. She had little chance of surviving the skirmish, if at all. Kael would defend her as best he could, and he knew Khecomo would do the same. Yet he was not certain he could do much. At least now he need not worry about burning walls and falling debris. He could use his magic freely.

The death knight lunged at the sorceress, his eggshell white eyes giving out a golden malicious glint. Abomination and ghouls heeded his example, wanting to put an end to this strange mutiny in their queen's ranks.

The girl held out her stave. Energy concentrated at one end of it, forming a white gleaming globe of power. She flung it to the skies with a graceful wave of her arm, and ice shards rained like falling knives from the skies, tearing through undead skin, scraping against undead armour. The death knight's wounds leaked brown fluids. He did not slow, however. He leapt at the young woman, swinging his runeblade at her open side.

Kael wanted to warn her--a name almost erupted from his lips, but suddenly he realized she had not given him a name to call her yet. It shocked him how much this young woman reminded him of Jaina Proudmoore, even though the former bore no physical resemblance to latter. Perhaps it was the extreme confidence and grace with which she cast her spells--although her power seemed to exceed what he remembered of Jaina's. Lights, it had been nearly two decades since he last saw the archmage, or anyone who had received training from the Kirin Tor for that matter. Who was the young woman? How was it possible that she wielded the skills of the lost magi guild?

The sorceress parried the death knight's blow with her stave with precision and strength. Though her quick reflexes and proper training could help preserve her, she had no advantage against her opponent in a contest of physical strength. Kael worried for her. Thinking quickly, he waved his hands to weave a spell.

The death knight suddenly found himself slowed and etherealized, his weapon touched the sorceress's shoulder harmlessly. Realizing his disadvantage against two mages, he moved away, ordering the Forsaken warriors to move in and cover him. Understanding immediately, the sorceress fell back behind Kael. Pillars of bright fire consumed the death knight and his lackeys. The smell of charred rotted flesh filled the air, and the sorceress fought the urge to cover her nose.

Khecomo's twin blades had already been unsheathed. They danced quickly in synchronized motion, cutting deep into undead flesh as their master's lithe form spun in a deadly waltz. His brown cape flared behind him, catching flakes of undead flesh that drifted all too much like crimson snow. Their fluids soaked through his leather armour, and he would have found it disgusting had his thoughts been allowed to wander for a second away from the battle.

Iria's arrows had pinned their share of ghouls to the ground. Her quiver was almost empty now--one could hardly find a worse moment to be approached by an abomination. She struggled to get to her feet.

The monstrosity widened its yellow eyes, its mouth parting in a greedy grin--Iria could not but regard it in total revulsion. Though the hulk of sinew and muscles seemed ungainly and clumsy, it galloped with amazing speed. She had to move back before...

"Khecomo!"

The rider jumped in front of her, his blades swinging to trap the butcher's knife between them. Agilely, he somersaulted over the shoulder of the abomination and made it whirl around to face him--successfully drawing its attention away from the weakened Iria. To the ranger general, he cried, "I leave the ghouls to you!"

"All right!"

Khec ducked as the abomination's chopper forcefully sailed over his head--he could feel the wind whip through his hair. He quickly rolled out of the way as the weapon made a pendulum return, his leather knee-guard scraping against the blighted soil as he skid away from reach. Frustrated that its efforts were in vain, the abomination roared and made a tactless step forward, exposing its unprotected belly. Khec jumped forward and jabbed both blades into the monster's gut, opening the flesh in opposite directions.

As soon as the smoke cleared, the death knight pointed his runeblade at one of his ghouls and began to siphon the quintessence from the hapless creature to replenish his own strength. The ghoul twisted, howled and turned over in agony until it was reduced to a singed mess.

Another four runes appeared on the ground, and Varimathras arrived with a legion of banshees and necromancers.

"Cast a phoenix!" the sorceress alerted Kael. "The dreadlord will put us all to sleep."

Kael did as he was told--even if Varimathras succeeded, the phoenix would be able to defend them for a while. Dark chaotic energies coursed through his veins, answering to his arcane commands. He shot both hands up in the air, his robes billowing as magical winds fluttered through it. A giant, burning phoenix materialized in the air, its heat emanating intensely. Its wings rained fire as it soared towards the dreadlord's legion.

It had been so long since he called upon the phoenix and the dark power that flowed through Alanen and Elma's veins. Kael had become the last heir to their legacy without ever understanding what it represented--he preferred not to trace the origin of their power. The two's unfortunate deaths were too much on his conscience. It was always painful to remember...and yet sorrow alone was the source of their strength.

The necromancers scurried away from the melting heat. Even Varimathras's spells were interrupted as he dashed out of the phoenix's range, allowing Kael and the sorceress some more time to manoeuvre their defence.

"Do you have the spell ready?" Kael asked her, betraying panic in his tone. If only she could take them out of there...

The sorceress was about to speak when a painful death coil knocked her to her knees and cut her answer short. Crawling to her feet again, she threw herself at her opponent angrily before the mage could say another word, "Wait till I kill that death knight!"

Kael found himself wanting to scream at her, only he did not have a name to call her. He could but watch as she conjured a fireball and threw it at the undead hero. The death knight who was more than prepared for her attack knocked her to the ground with ease, and raised his runeblade to impale her. Kael weaved another banish spell--all right, he should have known she was hardly as strong as she thought.

"Stand back!" instead of being grateful, she cursed agitatedly. Rolling off from the ground, she made her stave burn with a blinding blue light and whispered some spell sequences unknown to him. With a cry, she thrust her stave through the ethereal body of the death knight. Black energies furiously wrapped around his deadened body. The sorceress backed away, ecstasy written on her face as though she was marvelling at her work. Kael did not understand it until he watched the death knight implode into chunks of charred flesh.

"I've always hated death knights with a passion," he thought he heard her mutter.

There was a vicious grin on her face as she rejoined him. He could not but be thrown into query--who was she to possess such inexplicable powers? How could she have done what she just did?

"Come," she paid no heed to his widened eyes nor dropped jaw. "I have the spell ready."

* * *

Kael stared at the polished stone floor beneath his boots. Beside him, wearing the same expression of wonder were his two elven escorts. Iria was leaning heavily against Khecomo for support. But he just did not comprehend...

"We'll be safe here."

His eyes followed the young sorceress as she headed down the avenue of a reconstructed town. He had not the slightest idea where he was, but believed they were no longer under pursuit.

But there was also something about this town. There were, like in many human cities of Lordaeron, ruins of a once great civilization. There were fallen buildings and undead blight. But unlike most of them, there was also life.

Women gathered their children around themselves as the newcomers passed, and men glared at them with open distrust. Kael could understand their feelings well--three bloodied elves with their hair and clothes singed and a young woman who looked as though she had barely managed to escape with her life. Who would want to go near them?

The elven king recognized a fallen arcane tower. Something struck him as familiar. He seemed to remember that tower from so many years ago--

"Wait! Is--is this Dalaran?" his question made the sorceress pause. She nodded impassively. He exclaimed in awe, "You have teleported us as far as Dalaran in two spells?" How could anyone so young possess so much power? Or was it his eyes that deceived him, and she was not as young as she appeared to be?

The girl nodded again and made no comment, as though it was no great deal. He remembered it was only moments ago when he heard her admit to not being powerful enough to teleport vast distances--he just had no idea how _vast _she had in mind.

"A tavern," she pointed at a swinging sign hanging from a crude two-storey building that had been erected after the fall of Dalaran. "Your general could use some rest and have a healer tend to her."

Kael cast a worried glance at Iria. She was barely able to walk by herself. Her cheeks flustered with embarrassment and humiliation. _For crying out loud,_ her fierce glare seemed to say, _she was a general, not some helpless gentry lady who needed to be taken care of_. But judging from her degree of injury, Kael could not disagree with the sorceress. His own injured shoulder burnt with pain as well. He followed her into the tavern.

The tavern keeper was a huge human with broad shoulders and a thick beard. As he moved from behind the counter to greet the sorceress, he easily towered over her petit form. It seemed almost awkward to see him struggling to bow, "Mistress! It is always pleasant to see you again. What can I do for you and your...friends?" he eyed the three elves standing at the doorway.

"Give them rooms--the best suite for the elflord," she said, patting the tavern keeper on his muscled arm, "hot baths, and then a hearty meal. They need a healer, so send for your wife. That is all I can think of now--wait. They need new clothes. Fetch Ted the tailor."

"Certainly, mistress," the tall man, despite of his intimidating physique seemed nervous around the young woman--had he also had a taste of her powers?

Kael had no gold to pay for the expenses--his castle had been burnt down and probably his city as well. Sylvanas would most probably empty his treasury before pulling out, but that speculation did not improve his situation. He had not the faintest idea where he should find gold now, but he was sure this was not a good time to mention it. He would speak with the sorceress later.

After settling the three into their rooms, she turned to Kael, "I have some business to attend to in town. But I shall return shortly and find you fed and rested. Then we shall talk some more."

"We appreciate this, my lady..." Kael started to reply--but he paused, "But how about a name we can call you?"

He thought he saw hesitation crept upon her fair features, "I have plenty. Most people around here call me demon child, or the Blood Leprechaun--not very flattering, I should say."

Then clearly injured, she turned and headed out of his room, her heels clicking on the wooden floor.

* * *

Zypporah, the innkeeper's wife was one of the best healers in town, Kael was told. She was a civil and mild-mannered lady with a hint of sorrow in her honey-brown eyes.

"Things have changed so much after Lady Leprecha arrived," she said softly, pulling the blanket up to Iria's chin. "Although no one has the faintest idea from whereabouts she came."

Kael nodded, leaning against the wall.

"Some say she's half-elven," Zypporah went on. "Begging your pardon, milord, but I have never seen a half-elf in my life, so I just assume that she is."

His thoughts wandered to Finnall Goldensword, the half-elven daughter of Daelin Proudmoore--sister of Jaina Proudmoore. He had by chance crossed paths with the half-elf when she attempted to persuade the blood elves into alliance. His blood elves found the idea of being under the command of a half-breed ridiculous, and Kael, for more selfish reasons, also rejected her offer. But he remembered how she looked. She resembled Jaina, save that she was far more arrogant and far less sophisticated. He just had this vague impression that all half-elves were like Finnall, and certainly the delicacy and grace of Leprecha would state otherwise.

"But why would they call her demon child?" he narrowed his eyes, puzzled.

"There are talks," Zypporah paused to make sure that Iria was completely comfortable. "Some say she is not elven, and that she is the product of her mother's unholy union with a demon--it is all but speculation. Lady Leprecha only said that she never knew her father, and that her mother was killed in a fire. Rumours spread, you know."

"It is interesting how far rumours can carry themselves," Iria commented.

"But there is no denying that her powers are unnatural for a human girl," the healer stood straight and turned her face towards the elven king. "I daresay even for an elf."

Kael agreed completely.

Zypporah continued, "Before she came, there were rogues who used to come and rob us of our food and gold. Sometimes, they took the girls for their sport as well. The day Lady Leprecha came, our neighbour's girl-child was captured. They didn't know what to do, and the missus was weeping and begging my man to do something. Leprecha just sat at a corner of the tavern and said nothing. Then she went out, bringing the child back, dragging her two dead captors on the back of her horse. How she had done it, we did not know then. But after she left, the mob returned to avenge their fallen. They killed many. They burnt down houses. My man chased after the lady. He asked her to help defend the village--she requested payment, and being desperate as we were, we promised her. We had no idea she'd be asking for so much."

"How much?" Kael asked, intending to find out more about his mysterious rescuer. "Please excuse me if I seem rude, Lady Zypporah."

The healer breathed an audible sigh, "Let us just say that after three years we still have not been able to pay half of it. On top of this sum, Leprecha also demands free service. Food, rooms, clothes, steeds..."

Guilt struck him as he understood everything--the rooms that he and his servitors were in, their wonderful meal, the new clothes that were made for him--all were debts to Leprecha.

"I will find ways of paying, Mistress Healer," Kael made his promise even though he was uncertain when or how he was going to keep it. "There is no reason for you to spend for my sake."

"No, no, please, Lord Elf," the healer shook her head, almost frightened. "It is our duty and honour. Besides, Leprecha will be mad, and she isn't easily tamed."

Kael was not about to convince himself he did not hear an undertone.

"You have just met her on the road, you say?" Zypporah's voice suddenly began to tremble. "Be wary of her. The bandits I was speaking of earlier--she killed them all in a single spell, all forty of them."

The mental image sent shivers down his back.

* * *

"Leprecha."

The sorceress sat herself at the table across from Kael'thas and Khecomo. She was in black robes with a dark blue shawl about her shoulders. She seemed to have been outside for a long time--she was still shivering from the night air's chill. The tavern keeper served the three of them hot tea and emptied out the canteen at Leprecha's request--it almost made Kael guilty.

"You confuse me a great deal," he said to the composed young woman who sat sipping her drink. "You'd better be honest with me. Why did you come to Quel'dara? Why did you fight Sylvanas?"

The reply was brief and devoid of emotion, "I went because she requested my presence. I fought her because I hate her."

"I...see."

"She killed my father."

"But I thought Zypporah said you never..."

"Knew my father, humph," she completed. "The knowledge that Sylvanas killed him does not mean I know how he was."

Kael nodded. But deep down, he sensed that the bond between her and her father must have been stronger than what she claimed. But if she would keep it to herself, he would respect her decision.

"You wish to avenge him," he suggested, "but how come you ended up in her ranks? Surely she must have trusted you enough to let you follow her into the castle."

She slammed her mug down on the table as though she was annoyed with his incessant inquires, "Consider it a favour I owe her for freeing me from some idiot's cage. My past does not concern you." The sudden jerk of her hand spilled some tea over the table.

Kael shrank back, but an older and less civil Khecomo interjected acidly, "Let us pray that this 'idiot' wasn't your father."

The sorceress narrowed her eyes with a childish air, "It's far too complicated for your understanding." Suddenly Kael was reminded that she could not be very much more than a child.

"Indeed? How complicated?"

Seeing that Khec intended to push the matter, Kael stopped him, "Let her go on, Khecomo."

"I doubt her motives, milord," Khec interrupted. "She's a lying wench who is hoping to pass it off with some horseshit. The less of her fibs we endure the better. I fear she has spiteful intentions for us."

"Point taken," Kael'thas nodded and asked Leprecha to continue with her explanation, "You said you offer us freedom. What is in it for you?"

"I expect truth from you, Kael."

Her use of his first name made him shudder--it was almost as if she had known him for a long time although he had no memories of meeting her in the past.

"What...kind of truth?"

"There is something you know about--but I must ask you when we are alone."

"If you are looking for an excuse to isolate our king, that was a pitiful attempt," Khec snapped, meeting the prideful emerald eyes of the young sorceress.

"If I had any _spiteful intentions _for your king," Leprecha mocked, "I would have already taken full advantage while you ramble on your _horseshit_. I suppose Zypporah has told you about how I killed forty men with one spell?"

Khecomo stiffened, "Are you threatening me?"

"I am."

"Well, try me, you little piece of--"

"I see, rider, your keen share of high society exacted on you a refined tongue indeed."

"Khecomo, hold your opinion," Kael took the hint and stepped in--his rider had lost control of his temper and reduced his tact to swearing unfit to come from the mouth of an elf.

The sorceress gave the rider a victorious sneer.

"I apologize, milord," Khec sighed. "It must be the stress of watching our homeland taken over by the undead."

"On that matter, King Kael'thas," Leprecha returned to their earlier discussion, composing herself again, "the Forsaken's aim was merely to take your people to the Undercity. Sylvanas needs them to fight for her--she does not need them dead. We'd get our chance to rescue them. She'd most certainly try to reach you and to make a deal with you--so we must make haste."

"Make haste?"

"I can help you besiege her city--if we can claim it before she returns..." "We have no army!" Kael cried in shock. "It is suicide to just--"

"That is precisely why I brought you here," Leprecha explained. "There is an underground slave market I know of. We can get the slaves to fight for us."

"How are we going to pay..."

"It doesn't matter. This town owes me seventy thousand gold."

"_Seventy thousand!_ Do you have any idea how..."

Irritated, Leprecha cut his exclamation short, "What do you say? I can get the army ready in the next two days. In attacking Quel'dara, Sylvanas has hollowed out a great proportion of her forces. The fortifications of the Undercity should not be too hard to break through--and once we have it under control, we can force her to release your people."

"Wait!" Khecomo accused angrily, "This is absurd--I think you are just trying to lead King Kael to her."

"Use your head, rider. Only someone who completely lacks sense would attempt an act like that."

"You are right--I doubt your intelligence," Khecomo returned dourly. "And all this you do only for a_ truth_?"

"Aye, it is of great importance to me," she nodded. She paused for a few minutes, and then continued, "Well, I suppose I have another more selfish reason. My mentor has been trapped in the Undercity for ten years--she would be a powerful ally against the Dark Lady."

"And your mentor would be...?" Kael raised his brow--if his speculations were correct...

"Jaina Proudmoore," replied the sorceress. "I think you know her very well."

* * *

**TEASER AND A/N:**

Big hugs to all reviewers!!

Haha, I've got quite a few plot-related questions from you reviewers in the last chapter. I won't be answering some of them here since I assume nobody wants me to spoil my own story by giving out too much information which I tend to do. You will know the answers to most of them soooooooon! You're still very welcome to try your queries on me though if you want me to clear up something--sometimes you'd be able to catch my mistakes, and I'll really, really thank you for pointing it out.

Look for hints I'll be dropping somewhere below (smiles).

Aaand if I don't change my mind before I get to the second part of the story, Alanen will be getting his own interlude, w00t!! What? A problem? (whistles innocently)

**Crimson Paladin**: hugs CP I am so tempted to tell you the whole plot cuz you're so darn close to getting it right. But...nope. Let's see...almost all your questions are plot related, and I wouldn't wanna spoil anything for you (smirks evilly). I don't do Mary Sues, but let's just say that Leprecha will break someone's heart. Interesting idea...why haven't I ever thought of making Kael and Illi get at each other for Syl? Regardless, they'll get into a fight at some point of the story.

* * *

**Trevor X1**: Thanks for your support!! Oh I hate cliff-hangers too, but they get me going (hahaha). I was a little worried too about touching on dark themes that might not appeal to everyone, but I (sigh) can't really do happy stuff. I think the closest I've got is my other fic 'Listen', which has a lighter atmosphere (but somehow I'm already really stuck). Illidan will fall in love in this story, but I won't make him all sweet and nice--promise. He'd still be himself. Right now he's still a self-centred and driven character, yet he'd soon come to change--for the better, I hope.

* * *

**Lurker**: Thanks. Oh, certainly Ner'zhul is more calculated than that. Of course he'd only let himself be defeated if there are greater advantages to be gained (hint!!). He will still be a very powerful figure in the story.

* * *

**inaam07**: Go anti-Arthasism!! (hides from QotH). Oh I totally share your feelings about Maiev. When she said something like 'you orcs deserve a far worse fate' to Drak'thul in the second TFT mission, I was like 'Oh, okay, no need to be rude'. It didn't have a big effect on my views about her then. That catfight with Tyrande almost got my sympathy--until when she left the priestess to drown. I cursed at her and almost wrecked my mom's monitor¡X"what the h-ll! What the h-ll you----". But that aside, I like her characterization.

Oh, Maiev IS such a slut though. She and Furion belong together. He doesn't deserve Tyrande--you're absolutely right. He DID choose to leave her to go into the Emerald Dream.

On the matter of Kil'jaeden--despite the impossibility of his defeat suggested by many scholars of Warcraft, he is dead in my RG series. Deathwing has gone out drinking with Chen in afterlife, so he unfortunately will not be able to make an appearance in my story. I guess Nerz is powerful enough to raise Archimonde from death, but WHY would he want to do it? Nerz should be happy he's now the supreme villain around!! Find the four dragon aspects in Eternity's the Forgotten Ones--they don't want to migrate here (teehee).

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**DemonGod86**: Yay, thanks!! I'm flattered. Your review totally made my day!! I will keep this fic going and hopefully will be able to wrap it up before W.O.W. comes out to wreck my plot--Blizz and I are so not on the same track. TFT's storyline was extremely different to what I've predicted and it totally screwed over one of my previous fanfics. Anyway, I'm about to enter the second year of my Blizz fic fandom!!

Thrall is playing perfectly into Ner'zhul's plan, yes...and of course that lich king is such a calculated villain...

There will be casualties among canon characters--Nerz being the first I have mentioned, but Illidan will NOT be involved. I hope your questions have been answered in this update--and heehee, I think I have created more questions regarding Maiev's fate.

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**BoB**: Thanks for the correction in RG!! I'm certain there are 10 tons of typos and other errors in RG (and in my other fics as well), but I'm just too lazy to correct them. Someday I'll go back and fix them...someday...

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**P.S.** Suddenly I feel the urge to do a really obscene and gothic War fic. Tell me you don't want to read it. If I manage to complete the first chapter before I change my mind, I'll post it up in the R-section with a different account. 


	9. Deceived

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**A/N**: So many reviews...I feel loved !!!! BIG HUGS to all reviewers and readers. Thank you so much!!

Shameless ad: Check out 'My Grave, the Ocean'...I mean it's finally on 't you excited?? And my DA profile too. It's been updated since I last rambled about the Sylvanas picture that didn't really work!! The link is:

jenvisage . deviantart . com

without the spaces. Thanks.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN: DECEIVED**

**(ORGRIMMAR, 2 MONTHS AFTER THE BLACK WARDEN WAS DRIVEN BACK)**

"A miracle warrior?"

Thrall's blue eyes widened as he repeated the term the blademaster coined on their enemies' newest leader. _Who was the man? What had he done to merit such a title? _

Samuro nodded, trying to keep his composure. Seated across from Thrall in the Warchief's hut, he could not help but be distracted by Sylvanas Windrunner's silent presence. She had not spoken a word, nor imposed her opinion upon anyone. Yet her company was a distraction nonetheless.

Meeting the worried expression on Thrall's face, he began to explain, "He is human--a knight. Nothing much is known about him. Some said that he has but recently sailed from Lordaeron. Some regarded him as the 'dark magician'."

"As if one dark mage is not enough," Thrall muttered to himself as his thoughts drifted to the mysterious sister of Jaina Proudmoore who was rumoured to be skilled in dark magicks. It was a tale unattested since Brysta Proudmoore had yet to set foot onto the battlefield--for which Samuro and his commander, Thiong, were secretly grateful.

"This dark magician is truly unfathomable," Samuro nodded to acknowledge the Warchief's point, but did not wish to dwell on that subject. "You see, he is the new trusted general under the command of Railen Proudmoore, the son of Daelin. Thiong and I have fought him in two previous battles--I swear it was by some strange and vile sorcery, he was able to read our minds--"

"Telepathy?" Sylvanas's eyes glittered in amusement as she pulled herself upright in her chair. Samuro wondered why she--a blasted Windrunner elf, had been invited to a conference with the Warchief. The Blademaster had heard strange things about this elf. Her 'lover' had taken her child and abandoned her in the dead of the night, and that had thrown her into total hysterics for a few days. Thrall took pity on her--somehow he found it impossible not to do so. He allowed her to remain close by his side. But if she had been deeply injured by Terrorblade's desertion, she showed naught of it at the moment.

"Tell me more about it," she urged gently, yet her tone betrayed enthusiasm.

Samuro sighed inwardly. Thrall mirrored her interest as well, oblivious to the suspicious change of the woman's mood.

"Well, this human seems to know exactly what strategies we employ against him," the Blademaster went on to explain, "He had means to counter everyone of them--we were forced to retreat, having no way of holding our own defences. The humans, of course, are no match for the valour of us orcs eventually--besides, having only recently arrived at Kalimdor, the general does not have a good grasp of the geographies. We managed to drive his armies back, but this comes with an obscure discovery--he proves to be exceptionally difficult to kill. Thiong impaled him with his halberd three times in the chest, but the human bled very little. He was able to pull his army away to safety as though his wounds were no more than mere scratches. There is something very unnatural about this man whom Railen had accepted under his service, something very vile."

That assumption threw Thrall into silence for a moment. When he spoke again, he seemed pained, "A human with dark gifts...I do not know what charms this wretch they harbour possesses, but I grieve at how far the humans have fallen."

"Warchief, we must declare war upon them," Samuro pressed--his ultimate cause. He had journeyed all the way from his post bearing Thiong's news for this single purpose. Now that the humans had shown their colours, there was no reason the orcs should continue to bear with them. A battle between them should settle all scores between--and Spirits willing, this would be the last skirmish between the two races.

The inquisitive eyes of the Dark Ranger fell upon Samuro and he felt himself shudder involuntarily. No, she was not even staring at him. There was a distant look upon her face as though she was lost in her own thoughts.

The Blademaster could not name any reason, but he felt it ought to be a mistake to trust this elf. She might have saved Orgrimmar--she might have fought and won a war seven months into her pregnancy and ended up only with a sword wound in her shoulder and a couple of broken fingers. But if that miracle human general was a threat to the orcs, she definitely would be someone they needed to watch out for. Samuro only prayed to the spirits that the Warchief had not fallen prey to her charms and lost all his senses--being the witch that she was.

"Very well," Thrall spoke suddenly and tore the Blademaster's thoughts from the elf woman, "I will send a letter to Jaina Proudmoore again and see what explanations she has to offer. Although I loath the idea of warring against the humans, I fear this would eventually have to happen if their aggression against us do not cease. I will give her two week's time--and if she fails to produce a reply, we will raise arms against these humans."

"Warchief," Sylvanas turned to him, "Let me carry the letter. Given my elven heritage, it will be easy for me to infiltrate into the human's base and find Miss Proudmoore."

Thrall looked astounded for a few seconds--and then he concurred. Samuro was about to protest, but he figured as much. Despite his own distrust, Sylvanas was the best possible candidate they had.

Unless, of course, she was the humans' lapdog.

* * *

Sylvanas was all too aware of Samuro's opinion of her. She understood who sent a scout to tail her. But she did not fear his suspicion--he would find out nothing because she would do nothing to merit misgivings.

_Besides, she knew she already had Thrall._

The Warchief might still be in the dark about the extents of her powers, but her telepathy had already found its way into his mind. A man with strong beliefs and philosophy as such he was not easy to subvert. He could have retaliate had she forced her telekinesis upon him, or even kill her. _But she was patient._ She only gave him tiny doses of her mental poison at a time--beginning with his choice of food, and then, his choice of words, and, finally, choice of companions. Slowly and barely consciously, he yielded to her manipulation without understanding what was happening to him.

Illidan's '_abandonment_' was a boon--having felt an _inexplicable connection _to her, Thrall wanted desperately to comfort her when she was distraught. He lowered his guard completely--and her plan succeeded.

She lounged comfortably in his mind, safely cushioned within his trust. He would be ready to protect her with his life if she willed it so. If Samuro or any other individuals dared bring harm upon her, Thrall would see to it that they be disposed of. Her ultimate goal was within her grasp now, just agonizing inches away. Eventually, she knew, he would agree to lend her the aid she needed. He would march upon the Lich King's Stronghold, fight his armies for her, bleed for her, die for her--and he would watch as _she_ planted her deadly arrows into the loathed demon's heart. He would herald _her_ as the heroine who ended the Lich King's curse.

_All she had to do was to help him win the war against the humans._

He had a soft spot for humans--Jaina Proudmoore. Sylvanas had only a vague impression of who the woman was--the former lover of Arthas turned leader of the Lordaeron survivors. It was not until when she dispatched one of her trusted servants into the household of Proudmoore did she figure out two things--that, one, Jaina was locked away in a cell by her two siblings for betraying their father, and two, that the _renowned_ Miss Proudmoore who defeated Archimonde was the same _whore_ who abandoned Kael for Arthas.

She could not exactly explain the outburst of emotion that overcame her when she learned the truth, a mixture of jealousy, sorrow and elation she could hardly make out. _Why should she be jealous?_ She would have thanked Jaina for relinquishing Kael. But remembering what a devoted lover Kael always was, she hated to imagine how he had once loved _that human whore_ the way he did her.

_Sylvanas__ felt threatened._

To be fair, she had her share of lovers in the past--being the young, shrewd, beautiful woman she was with noble upbringing. But she never knew what it was to love someone.

She had no high opinion of Kael when she first sailed to Northrend in search of him. She had despised him--a weakling with no judgment of his own and would hide behind his Lady Vashj whenever he smelt trouble. But she was proven wrong. She gradually came to realize his inner strength as they journeyed together to save what was left of the Quel'dorei and braved death on the battlefield side by side. That inner strength was built upon his respect and love for her--and his love for her was so immense it dazzled her.

She shunned him at first--she had not the vaguest notion what to do with him. After all, she had been undead, and she had crawled for Ner'zhul. Nothing else ever entered her thoughts other than her own redemption by resurrecting the elven nation and slaying the hated Lich King. Kael's love--no, obsessive passion stunned her and skewed her plans. All she wanted to do was to escape from him, to not think about him so that she would not have to bear the brunt of disappointing him.

She did not have to sail to Kalimdor. She could have concealed herself in the dwarven mountains or found her own hideout underground--Ner'zhul would find her regardless if he put his mind to it. She had chosen to head so far from home only to hide from Kael. Not from Ner'zhul.

_In truth she would be more than exhilarated to meet the Lich King again._

She felt as though she already had one foot on the boat to Northrend. So close to success now.

And she listened to victory calling, calling...

_"The orcs have become increasingly hostile of late," Railen __Proudmoore__ said as he squinted into the rising sun. Standing on the high balcony of his late father's stronghold, nothing of the City below escaped him--nothing that belonged to him escaped from his view. He could feel the onshore winds breezing through the dawning town, brushing softly past his face. He sucked in a pleasant breath of morning._

_ Yet on the same balcony looking out the same view only half a year ago, his father Daelin was slain, betrayed by his youngest and favourite child. The thought brought a frown upon the young admiral's weathered face. He did not know what to do with Jaina. He would have killed her, but that would make him no different to her, guilty of murdering his own kin. What else could he do? He kept her locked in the dungeons. Best pretend she never existed. Best hide her until he was strong enough to make up his mind._

_ Behind him, a dark-cloaked figure buttered her toast at the breakfast table. She replied in a somewhat impassionate tone, "When they come, they will. There is no sense in brooding over it."_

_"Don't you see, Brysta?" he snapped heatedly. "If they are planning a mass invasion, I am not going to just sit there and do nothing."_

_"Of course you are not," she shook her head, paying no heed to his rising temper. "But if that is to happen, Sir Usven will advise us what to do."_

The walking miracle, Carew Usven, slowly turned his goblet in his hands, the last drop of the dark bittersweet liquor twirled at the base of the glass--_"Alcohol so early in the morning? What is it if not sheer madness!"_ used to be Brysta's mockery behind his back before she came to rely on him. And it was true he ate almost naught at all--he did not require food.

Brysta used to despise him, but now, she adored him--worshipped him for his dark powers and immense wisdom. And twice she had offered herself to him.

He thought about the beautiful sorceress--she tasted much like fine wine. He saw in her an asset he must claim for his Dark Mistress, a warrior more cunning compared to her brawny and impulsive brother yet at the same time ignorant in her own ways. There was no pleasure in her flesh he could attain. True, she was more than any mortal man could ask for, and yet he was already married--to the Dark Lady's telekinesis.

Sylvanas had made certain he never wanted to divorce from her power.

He left behind a weeping human wife a long while ago. The moment he saw the secret blue light in Sylvanas's eyes, he knew that the life he previously led was a mistake, meaningless and sad. How could he have been such a fool? How could he have possibly wanted to spend a life with an incompetent and narrow-minded whore of a wife? He had touched the mind of the Dark Mistress and tasted a fraction of her wisdom--and it was enough for him to know that he never wanted to leave her side.

_Do this__ for me, _Sylvanas said when she sent him to infiltrate the House of Proudmoore. _I can trust no one else but you. _Flattered by her faith in him, Usven went willingly. He would do anything or give anything willingly to remain in her favour.

"That is right, milady. The orcs are naught to be feared," he answered, giving Brysta a touch on her arm that would have been regarded too bold in human customs. But he was certain the sorceress was taken enough with him not to mind his forwardness. Nor the icy death of his hands. "We might not have succeeded in obliterating those foul brutes in the previous assault, but the Light has shown us that they can be defeated. And they will be defeated."

_ The Light?_ The Light was nothing compared to the Dark Lady.

His mistress had transformed him, moulded him into something much more refined--her powers had given him a more mature face, fading grey colours in his hair which made him look undeniably solemn, astute, and handsome. He put on a mask of sincere affection as Brysta cast a look of covet longing his way. _Poor wretched thing._She still had not understood a thing, had she?

_"What do you propose, Sir Usven?" Railen Proumoore, at the moment, also had on his mask of faked respect. He might appear to look up to Usven as a man of great and inexplicable wisdom, and yet in his heart there was only distrust and hate--fear, as well. For a man who had so easily put the vile orcs into their place, he might as well turn against everyone and make himself ruler of the land. _

With the Dark Lady's power, Usven was more than capable of doing that. But he would not--it was not his objective, or even in his interest. His only desire was to serve Sylvanas, and her alone.

"Take heart, Admiral," Usven said, setting the glass down upon the dining table. "The orcs are preparing for an attack soon. Let me lead your army again. This time, those foul brutes will not win."

They would not win. Nor would the humans.

Because the Dark Lady would claim the victory.

* * *

**(DALARAN, 13 YEARS AFTER SYLVANAS SAILED WEST) **

Despite the many similarities Kael continued to note between Leprecha and Jaina, the former was never late for an appointment. Her precise and impatient personality would allow her to waste no time in idle and pointless pleasantries. As soon as he and Khecomo joined her at their designated meeting place in the morning, she began to explain their situation right away.

Khecomo was perhaps not the best choice of a companion, but he was the only one. With Iria still weak from her injuries and bedridden, she was in no shape to attend her king. Given the previous disputes between the sorceress and the rider, Kael had lukewarm feelings about this meeting they were to have this morning. He only prayed that Khec would have enough sense to keep his wits about him and not provoke Leprecha anymore than he already had.

Kael appreciated his caution--truth be told, while he trusted his sentiments for the young sorceress, he needed Khec to be alert for the both of them. Leprecha had a way around him that made him believe her unquestioningly. He was glad the rider was there to remind him that nothing was as simple as it seemed.

"How many is the slave mistress able to gather?" Kael inquired, interrupting Leprecha. Lost in his thoughts, he was hardly able to pay attention to what she had been saying.

"Four hundred--maybe more," she replied.

_ Four hundred._ Sylvanas's army was certainly larger than that. But if Leprecha's speculations held true, they would be able to seize the Undercity before the Dark Lady reached it. Kael was impressed by the confidence the young sorceress showed as she laid out her plans. Perhaps it was because of that, he did not feel the need to panic even though the risk was high, even though his logic protested in every other sense.

He noticed how her dark blue silk dress shimmered in the light of the morning--a nice choice of colour, but perhaps much too elaborate for a woman so young. Her sheathed sword hung on her belt, although she did not bring her stave. Her dark curls were held in place by two jewelled butterfly-shaped pins. Of no doubts she could be stunning even to the eyes of elven men. But thinking how she probably made the villagers suffer for her extravagance, he could but shake his head and sigh.

She picked up the hem of her skirt and carefully hopped over the puddles of rainwater collected from the night before. Kael remembered how the soft pitter-patter comforted his troubled mind and finally lulled him to a restful sleep. He had always loved the rain.

Khec tagged along without comment by his side, tugging uncomfortably at his embroidered cloak. Being trained with the riders in the wilderness since an early age, he was unused to such profligate choice of clothing. Khec expressed that he would give anything to have his leather armour back--the innkeeper had, seeing the condition of the burnt and blood-stained armour, thrown it to the fire and promised him a new set. But the rider was quite irritable and swore that if the humans try and plate his new armour in gold, he would throw it back in their face.

Lady Leprecha entered a stable that stood at the mouth of the town.

Khecomo immediately scanned the vicinity in suspicion--reminded that he should stay alert, Kael also kept his guard up.

"Tiurin, this is Lord Kael'thas," Leprecha approached an old man seated a stack of hay with his head bowed and his back to the wall. He did not look up--given his elderliness, he could be either dosing, or near-deaf.

The sorceress bent over him and put a hand under his chin to make him look up at her. He let out a sharp gasp, "Ah, Lady Brettshard! It is you! How good to see you again, lass!"

Kael thought the latter speculation true because the man spoke exceptionally loudly. But what the aged stable-hand exclaimed did not surprise him until Leprecha hissed.

"Ah, I apologize, Lady Leprecha," Tiurin corrected himself.

_Lady Brettshard?_

Kael remembered her telling him that she had many names. This could be one of her many aliases.

Leprecha helped the old man up to his feet and introduced Kael to him again. His enthusiasm seemed to dim as they turned upon the two elves standing by the door, but he nodded civilly and asked them how they were.

"Tell _her_ we are here," Leprecha requested.

"Aye, I will," Tiurin nodded and excused himself, hobbling slowly outside with apparent difficulty. It almost pained Kael to watch as he laboured his way down the pebbled road and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

When Tiurin returned, he entered and approached Leprecha from her left. Kael noticed almost irrelevantly that she had to turn and accept the key given to her with her right hand. That awkward gesture caught his attention and told him something about her--he just could not quite tell what it exactly was yet.

"Here you go," Tiurin did not seemed bothered--Kael had a feeling that the old man had known her for long enough to no longer pay any attention to her motions. "And when you do go to the prayers again, burn your father an incense in my name. May he rest in peace."

Leprecha blinked. She looked as though she was about to say something, but instead, she nodded, "I will."

She turned to catch Khec's suspicious glare and shot back a defiant gaze. Kael did not know if she noted his new discovery.

_The knowledge that Sylvanas killed him does not mean I know how he was._

He remembered she said this regarding her father.

Murdered by Sylvanas, known to Tiurin--who?

In his mind, he began to work through possibilities. He certainly did not claim to know everything the Dark Lady had done--he could not before she left for Kalimdor. Now it was even less possible.

_And why did it matter?_

Leprecha bade Tiurin a quick farewell and led the two elves out of the stable into a cottage on the other side of town. She keyed the door and instructed Khec to bar it behind them. The house was dark--there were windows to a side, but layers of dust blocked out all daylight from outside. The young sorceress made her way down through a hatch to the basement. Kael felt every bit as though she was leading them down to a deathtrap.

But a single candle flickering in the centre of the basement calmed him a little. By its sickly flame, he was able to see a large screen on one side of the room. Someone was concealed behind it--a woman of elven heritage, as far as he could tell from her silhouette upon the canvas. Yet he made no mistake about her. The stench of demon chained heavily about her--why had Leprecha brought him here to this dangerous woman? He exchanged a worried glance with Khecomo.

"Four hundred, Leprecha?" came a raspy voice from behind the screen, speaking in clear elvish. Kael thought he recognized a strong Kaldorei accent. "With your famous powers, you can take on an army by yourself, my dear. Why so many? You'll do fine with just two hundred."

"It is not myself that I am concerned with, Mistress," Leprecha replied with a mock bow--never had the two elves seen her act in true reverence of anyone.

Two blue beams escaped from behind the screen. Kael and his rider both shuddered in spite of themselves as they felt cruel, scrutinizing eyes upon them. The dame, whoever she was, seemed to be a powerful and intimidating figure.

"Perhaps, perhaps," she lifted her sight from the two and shifted her body. Kael thought he heard the sound of blades jingling against one another. "I do not understand you, girl," she continued, ignoring the discomfort of her two elven visitors, "With your powers, you could very well blast the Queen of the Forsaken to smithereens. Why bother play her games?"

Leprecha did not answer, and changed the subject abruptly, "...about the four hundred slaves?"

"The villagers asked that you waive ten thousand off their debt."

Leprecha frowned, "Tell them, five thousand."

"At least I tried," the female elf chuckled. There was no mirth in her laughter. It was only cold and cruel, "I'd add another ten thousand on top of that if I were you. You risked your life for them. They saw the state you were in after you eliminated the mob."

Was the one single spell that took forty lives a chance incident? Was it not as easy as it sounded? Even so, it was still quite inconceivable.

"Enough about me," Leprecha scowled, annoyed. She was never at ease whenever she found herself to be the subject of discussion--and yet everyone everywhere seemed interested in uncovering her origins and her mysteries. "Can you have the forces ready by the morrow? Make sure the blacksmiths arm them properly?"

"For you, my dear, of course," the female elf's comment made both Kael and Khec shudder.

"I offer you my thanks," bowing again, Leprecha began to retreat. "We take our leave. Until tomorrow, Mistress Davita."

* * *

"Who the hell is that woman?"

Khecomo exploded in rage once they were outside the cottage, "Who? What is a night elf doing in Lordaeron--and overseeing a slave market too?"

His outburst was received by nervous glances from the human villagers on the road. They did not understand elvish nor the reason for his anger, but for someone to openly shout at their Lady Leprecha, he must have been even viler in nature.

"I do not have the slightest idea," Leprecha marched down the road two at a time as though she was attempting to evade Khec's questions. "Between she and I, it is only business. I have no intention of finding out anything about her."

"Oh, spare me," Khec snapped, picking up his pace behind her. Had his mind not been preoccupied, he would have noticed that he had left his king unguarded, "_You have not the slightest idea_--and yet you trust her enough to tell her our course--"

"I've told her nothing," the sorceress protested, turning abruptly to face the rider. "She does not know where we are headed."

"Tell me you've sold us out, and maybe I'll find it easier to believe you, wench."

Leprecha was about to argue when she changed her mind and smiled instead, "You forget, dear Khecomo. You do not have to trust me. You can always find your own way to rescue your people."

Khec cursed her, but his angry words were hollow. Despite how much he hated to admit, she was the elves' only hope--at least all the hope he could see at the moment.

Behind them, Kael'thas was barely paying attention to their heated quarrel. His mind was somewhere else--for once, he was not thinking about his own survival or pondering Sylvanas's change. His thoughts coiled around the mysterious night elven woman who had just given him the means to save his people.

She was not an enemy--no, but neither was she a friend. She offered her help freely now, but he felt there must be a price that she had not yet spoken of. He feared the consequences of accepting her aid.

And what of Leprecha? What was the truth she sought? Was it in his power to give it to her?

He decided that he would revisit the cottage. He would do so alone, and he would ask the night elf to name her price.

_And through dusty windows, the Black Warden watched as he paced slowly away from her hiding place--the dark prison that she could not leave. No one must see her in her state. No one. _

_ She pressed her forehead against the dusty, crude glass. _

_ **Come back**, she whispered secretly to the elven king as he cast a final glance back at the cottage. **Come back and find me.**_

_ **I am the one who require your aid, Kael'thas. **_

* * *

Kael waited until dark when he slipped from his room through the window. He thought he should have told Iria about his suspicions for Mistress Davita so that she would know to find help if anything happened to him. But believing his general would try to stop him, he decided against it.

He had no idea what possessed him to think that he should go back and confront the slave mistress. Was it even wise to question? Leprecha was right about one thing--he _did not_ have to trust her, and yet she was his best chance of saving his people, if not the only. It was foolish and pointless to doubt--besides, he could not think of a price he was not willing to pay in order to restore Quel'dara.

And yet, while it was not too late to find out the hidden cost, perhaps he should make sure he did not miss the chance to back out.

He found his way back to the cottage in the dark, almost grateful that the streets were empty of people else he would draw attention upon himself. He had questioned the wisdom of letting the humans know that he was an elflord--Leprecha had taken care not to reveal his true identity and at the same time make use of his status to mill the villagers around in his name. Still, he worried that rumours might start. If they reached the ears of Sylvanas or her spies, all could be lost.

He found himself standing in front of the cottage. No light escaped from the grimy windows. Not even a single flickering candle. Shrouded in night, the structure just looked dirty and abandoned. Empty.

Why, of course. If this was a site of an underground slave market, it ought to be empty after a deal was made. The slave mistress would certainly not stay around to be discovered.

Anyhow, he had come so far. Might as well try his luck.

He knocked at the door.

He had not expected there to be a response anyway.

Was it only his overactive imagination--or why would the slave mistress demand anything from him now that he was helpless and impoverished? It was almost laughable--he should not be too surprised if the army did not appear by the morrow.

Sighing, he knocked again.

This time, he was positive he heard some sounds coming from within the building. Like feet shifting, blades clanging. He strained his ears to hear some more, but everything returned to dead silence again. Was that the dark mistress inside the house? Had she heard him? Had she known he was there to find her? He tried the door--it was barred. Just when he was about to force it open, a hand touched him from behind. He swallowed a cry of surprise and spun around to defend himself...

It was only Iria, wrapped in her red ranger's cloak, "Milord, what are you doing out here?"

"Iria! You are not supposed to be here!"

If the dark mistress had decided against opening the door for him, he had a feeling that Iria's sudden appearance was to blame. He was so close to finding out the truth--or so close to putting himself in grave danger.

"I certainly do not mean to give you a fright. I tried to find you, but you were not in your room," she appeared stunned by his outburst.

"No, I need some fresh air," he lied, knowing well that it was hardly enough to convince a child. She probably had seen him try the door--but it was not her place to question her king anyhow. In a gentler tone, he added, "You are still unwell, Iria. You really should stay inside."

"I am well enough to fight a war," she replied, pausing suddenly to catch her breath, "After all, if you will lead your army to the Undercity in two days' time, I cannot be idling in bed. Milord, it's Khec..."

It was only then when he noticed how pallid she was--she had probably been running to find him. He realized something was wrong, "What is it?"

"Khec and Leprecha," she told him, "They are trying to kill each other."

"Damn it!" he cursed. "Where are they? Take me to them!"

"By the lake," she led the way.

* * *

It was after dark, after the elves retired to their rooms when Khecomo saw Leprecha slipping away from the inn. Thinking that she might be heading out to find her demon friends, he followed her to learn what he could.

But he was wrong.

She went into the woods just outside Dalaran and stopped before a moonlit lake. Beneath the willow's shade, he saw her disrobe and slid into the light-blessed waters. He knew he should not bother with staying, but somehow, a small gesture of her hand made him halt. With her back still towards him, she combed her long hair to a side. Moonlight revealed to him what horrors she had hidden well beneath her clothes--many scars blemished her pallid skin.

Time had begun to take away some of the disfigurements, but one distinct sword wound ran from the left side of her nape all the way down to her waist--a wound that had severed her whole arm. The limb was stitched back crudely, but it explained to Khec why he had never seen her move that arm.

A sound caught in Leprecha's throat as though she was pained.

And suddenly, the sword wound flared white hot.

Khec held his breath and made no sound as he inched for a closer look.

He knew that kind of wound. It had to be created by a runeblade, and because of its enchanted nature, it would never fade.

Letting out another agonized moan, the sorceress suddenly disappeared underwater.

Khec hesitated--was he to rescue her? If he did not, he feared she might drown and take away what hope that the elves had left. But if he did, that would not necessarily be wise, and she would not necessarily be grateful. For what seemed to be a long and unbearable moment, he stood frozen, trying unsuccessfully to decide what to do.

He breathed a sigh of relief as she resurfaced with a gasp and found her footing. He heard her speaking angrily to herself, something unintelligible to him that sounded vaguely like orcish--_but why would he have this impression_?

The shadows shifted suddenly, and an immense darkness choked his vision. He gasped as the water around the sorceress began to glow.

What he saw next was inexplicable--terrifying. He had no words to describe it even if he was asked to. He ducked behind the shrubs and closed his eyes, trying with little success to convince himself that he was mistaken, and he had not seen that horrible reflection in the water.

_Betrayal..._

Upon the silent winds came a frigid whisper that sent chills down his back. He thought he knew that voice. But that just could not be. It could not be...

Khec shrank back in terror, moving as quickly and silently as he could away from the lake, through the dark forest. In his blind panic, he made a very unelven error--he tripped over something and fell flat on his face.

He would have just got up to his feet and resume his flight, but that 'thing' which had been the cause of his disgrace caught his attention. It was the sword that Leprecha always carried, never drawn but valued--how did it get there? Pain split his head for a second. He thought he could hear the same whisper of death again, crying out to him...

_Betrayal..._

He picked the weapon up--it burnt in his grip with a coldness that chilled his heart. But he could not put it down. It seemed that his hands were clued to the scabbard and they no longer obeyed him. By the light of the moon, he recognized the skull on the hilt now, as though seeing it for the very first time. He might have sworn its design changed right before his eyes. His fingers closed around the cursed hilt and drew it. The silver blade gleamed in otherworldly splendour.

There was naught to deny now...

**The legendary stealer of souls.******

** Frostmourne.**

He willed himself to drop the runeblade--it took him tremendous effort. With a yelp, he thrust the weapon away from him and drew his double blades. He lunged. His weapons collided with another. His eyes widened in horror, and he was almost convinced his heart would burst from the shock.

His opponent's stave glowed blue in the dark. The emerald eyes flared with the same angry intensity.

"You've tried my tolerance, rider."

"Who...who are you?"

* * *

**A/N**

Mwahahaha. I feel so evil. I'll end this chapter here.

Coming up next on** Blood Leprechaun**, we'll see how Sylvanas continues to manipulate Thrall (she is not exerting absolute control over Thrall--she's just influencing his thoughts). We'll head to Kalimdor and see how Illidan is doing too. _And of course_, Khec will attempt a very senseless thing which will make him 'a traitor to Quel'dara'.

Thank you again, reviewers. I really feel so loved. You've got so many theories about Leprecha, and I congratulate one of you who actually got it right. That person will receive a big hug in my next update when all mysteries are cleared. For the sake of suspense now I'm not gonna tell who. I think most of you should already have that figured out by now (smiles).

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**Queen of the Harpies**: Here's to romance, girl!! W00t!! Thinking about it, I've been doing lots more romance lately. Must be peer pressure, which isn't a bad thing at all (smiles).

Thanks, hon. I'd really love to see Syl and Illie together, but I love Syl x Kael too. Too bad I can't have it both ways!! Haha, curse my indecisiveness!! Poor Illie...I wonder why he's always the one who doesn't get the girl. I can't say that something bad is going to happen to Illie, but... I'm not really crazy about Furion though, like I said in my response to iaam07 in the previous chapter. He doesn't deserve Tyrande.

I can't decide between loving/hating Leprecha myself...guess with these overpowered villainesses it's always a love/hate thing. Syl definitely has changed. Now without Kael and Tiani, she's even more concentrated on her task to destroy Nerz. But she doesn't really see how her drive destroys her at the same time. (sigh) If only the world could be perfect.

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**Inaam07**: Thanks for your theories!! Um...surely you have a point. Nerz is powerful enough to play this kind of game and take over the world. But I beg to differ. I don't really enjoy the idea of an invincible villain trying to control the world. My view on Nerz: Though knowing that he could attain so much more and become the most powerful creature in the world, he does not want to--it is meaningless to rule forever--no matter how much power you have--if you rule alone. Instead of beating the crap out of everyone and force them to obey him, he shows them how vulnerable they really are, and then let them go. He breaks Sylvanas, for instance, by showing her how much alike they were, and that she can never really escape from him. All that she ever wants is to defeat him--and in realizing this truth, all she has been working for is meaningless, and she is, in another sense, destroyed. That way, Ner'zhul does not rule over actual lands or physically obtain more power. He dwarves his enemies' spirits and scourges their minds--and that will make him more powerful than if he actually controls the whole world.  
  
But thanks though. I'll definitely take your argument into account when I explain Nerz's motives in further chapters.

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**Weirgate**: Thank you for the long review and your compliments. I promise I'll try to unconfused you as much as I can. This is actually the first time I'm doing a sequel that is more complicated than the original!! And I'm kinda jumping between timelines too. Hopefully, all mysteries will be cleared up when I get to the end of this part. No worries. I love this story, I won't give it up.  
  
Uh-huh, uh-huh...Syl actually attacked Theramore at the beginning of the second year she left Quel'dara. The previous eleven months were spent in travel (to Kalimdor) and preparation for invasion. She'll take Jaina captive after approximately a battle of two months, and travel back to Lordaeron (which takes another eight months this time cuz of some storms at sea) to prepare for battle against the Lich King. Then, she returned to Undercity where she locked Jaina up for approximately 11 years. Of course, how 'he died and she became him' will soon be revealed--that will be the central mystery of the story.  
  
The great Queen of Nazjatar will tell you that you are partly right--Nerz certainly is a patron figure for the most part of her life (hint: points to her holding Frostmourne??!). Yup, Tianithan (he'll just be called Tiani later on) will be staying with the Night Elves. By the way, Vashj has guided Sylvanas and Illidan to Kalimdor, and I guess she is/they are safe and warm (I doubt that myself?!) in the afterlife. I don't think she'll be appearing in this story. But if I don't change my mind we will most probably...(SPOILER) revisit the afterlife.

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**Slinky Avenger**: Thanks for your review and invitation to your C2 community!! I'm so honoured.

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**Demongod**: Nerf please indeed. Thanks for the PM on WCR too...geh...(grins evilly).There's always a possibility of an M x I fic--I'm such a hypocrite I always eat my own words. Thanks for reviewing MGTO, but ouch, I feel the slap (cries). Ah, my pride...but thanks for telling the truth though.

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**  
Lord Arcane/Lurker**: You too. Thanks for following Blood Lep and reviewing MGTO. And thanks for your crit. I really appreciate it.

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**The Reviewer**: Thanks!! Yup, glad you're thinking the same thing. I myself grow to hate Leprecha more by the chapter, and yet she'll have a really large part to play in further updates.

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**Keeper Azreal (formerly Archaon lord o chaos undivided?!): **Thanks for the review. Sorry for confusing you. When I typed that thing about the Dragon Aspects, I was actually referring to fellow fanfic writers Eternity and a Half and ShadowedLight's story. Of course...I've been working with Eternity lately so I learned a lot about the Dragon Aspects from him. (Before I didn't even know how to spell Nozdormu!!) Hahaha, certainly you didn't think that this crazy Sylvanas fan (me) wouldn't know she has 2 sisters? Alleria and Vereesa, of course--I've written another fanfic 'My Ruins' regarding that relationship. Ah well, poor Vereesa. I guess it's better if she remains in the dark.

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**Drunken Panda7**: Thanks for the encouragement. Oh, another theory (smiles evilly)?!

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**  
WingchumonZERO**: Thanks!! You're back!! Yup, Leprecha is training to be an archmage, but that spell with which she killed forty men is definitely not what Jaina would teach her, rather...(hintzz).

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**Crimson Paladin**: Thank you. Yes, Leprecha certainly exceeds expectations. She can theoretically take on Sylvanas, but there is a reason she wouldn't do it--something that will be revealed hopefully in another 2 chapters (I'm so dying to get to that part!!). The Undercity is actually located underground the Capital City of Lordaeron. As for the Faceless Ones--I don't really have any plans of including them, to your disappointment. But the spec of this story is already fairly large, and I don't want it to get beyond what I have in mind. Plus, if I included everything in one story there will be no new fanfics from me (_Someone in the background: Bah! Who cares about your fanfics?_). Yup, as long as I don't change my mind we will see Alanen again. Thanks for liking him. That poor guy.

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**Trevor X1: **Thanks. Heh, I guess Khec is the typical hot-headed hero who acts on impulse half the time. This rashness of his will eventually cost him--and hopefully he'll learn something from it?! I don't know why, but I feel like putting Iria in the story. I may have plans for her (smiles), so I guess that's why she's female (?!). Kael, Leprecha, Jaina, Sylvanas, Illidan...we shall see soon enough. 


	10. Tyrande's Interlude

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

* * *

**TYRANDE'S INTERLUDE  
**

**(ASHENVALE, 11 NIGHTS AFTER TIANITHAN WAS BORN)**

The Black Warden's poison was a mixture of seven hibiscus plants, its recipe a secret known only to those bound by the Code of the Warden. Rue Wyena Shadowsong, the former mentor of Maiev and one of the Elders of the Wardens' Council agreed to give Illidan an antidote as requested by the Shan'do. However she was greatly shaken by the tale of a renegade among their Code--the Black Warden.

The old elf had spent months bemoaning the passing of her favourite student. "It was my fault I did not stop Maiev from becoming a warden," she was often heard sighing. "So many years ago, I could already see that her impulsive rage would destroy her. Why had I helped her acquire the means? Why had I accepted her into the Code? She would not have died if she had not pledged herself to hunt down Illidan!"

With the return of the Betrayer, she could not describe how her rage boiled. There were so many questions regarding Maiev's fate she needed to ask of him, yet all he gave her in reply was but cries of pain. She did not doubt his howls were genuine--what he had done to her student should cause him far worse pain.

"How does he fare?"

Soft light from the gentle torch fell upon the soft features of a visitor, and the old warden shifted her gaze upon the face. Long had she exchanged the attractiveness of girlhood for the true beauty of maturity, yet Wyena could not but be stunned by her delicacy every time she laid her eyes upon her. She marvelled at the way the dark velvety hair cascaded down to the priestess's well-curved body, and the way white starlight shone in her sympathetic eyes enough to warm even a heart that had already gone cold.

"Illidan is asleep," Wyena said with a sigh. "But he should heal well."

She placed a consoling hand on the old warden's shoulder, seeming to understand the emotional turmoil raging within her--the hand that was the salvation of Kalimdor, a hand that was powerful and strong, yet stained with innocent blood. Wyena was unsure whether she should accept her comfort.

The visitor took a pewter carafe filled with scented water and pushed the half-opened metal gate to enter a room. She knelt beside the former demon hunter who was still in his sedated sleep. His breathing seemed easy and deep. Untying her kerchief from her waist, she began to bathe his face with scented water.

Barely conscious of what she was doing, she fingered through his dark hair. Twigs and leaves were still caught in it--he had been sleeping in the forest, it seemed. The wounds on his chest and arm stopped bleeding a while ago, but the one through his right wrist still burnt to the touch.

She took his hand gently in hers and examined the wound--not an ordinary wound. She had seen enough injuries in the past few years to know which ones would heal and which ones would not. This would be one of those scars he had to live with probably for the rest of his life. She wondered it if hurt.

Pressing her lips against the back of his hand, she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to her Goddess.

_Elune__, you had not prevented Maiev from becoming a Warden. You have allowed Illidan to betray us, and yet You preserved him in Your Hands. I am certain You have Your reasons, impossible for our humble comprehension. _

_ But why had you not stopped **me **from becoming a priestess when You knew I could not but fall?_

Shaking her head, she allowed herself a moment to clear her mind. She thought about giving Illidan a kiss on the cheek--not the sign of a lover's affection but mere sisterly concern. Illidan was like her brother, even though she must confess she had not always loved him well. Breathing a sigh, she picked up the moistened kerchief and resumed dabbing that feverish face.

Illidan began to wake from his drugged sleep. Though his eyes were sightless, he knew at once who was sitting beside his bed, "Tyrande."

"How did you know it was me?" she asked softly. He never failed to surprise her even after so many years, "I have not said a word."

"It is the scent in your hair," he replied, a smile spreading across his lips. "You always wash your hair with lavender water."

Somehow, his seemingly innocent comment brought tears to her eyes. Lavender water--oh, such an insignificant detail! But she held her emotions in check the way she was so accustomed to doing.

While she hesitated, he spoke again, giving her no chance to deal with her feelings, "Am I in prison again?"

"Surely not," she assured him, pulling the blanket up to his chin. "We have too much to talk about to simply lock you up."

To her surprise, he chuckled, "You have a bad sense of humour."

"It was not meant to be funny," Tyrande snapped quietly. "You took a shadow strike. We had to take you to the wardens. If you came here a few hours late, you could have died." She caught herself._ Why should she care? Had she not rather he stayed dead? But had she not been overjoyed to learn that he was alive? _"When you are better, Furion would like to speak with you about...the baby you brought here."

"I can't feel better than this," his voice suddenly dropped low to a whisper, "with you here beside me."

Tyrande stiffened uncomfortably. Although she convinced herself she was not at fault for choosing his brother, she could never be impassive to how much he still loved her. It would be cruel to deprive him of _her presence_, yet it would be unkindness to herself had she stayed against her own will. She did not wish to lead him on--as if there was still anything left between them to misunderstand, "Well, until you are better."

Wordlessly, she gently wiped his face again.


	11. Filched

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**A/N**:

Heya, lords and ladies!! I'd like to thank all of you for your support. That is the best birthday present I could ever get (and guess what? I've just turned 20!!). I am very grateful and touched by how many people cared and stood up for me--without your help, the case would never have been solved as quickly (more on that in the A/N after this chapter, if you're interested). Thanks so much!! I love you all!!

Okay, I'll shut up for now and let you read.

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT: FILCHED**

"Who are you?"

Khecomo had been taken by surprise, although he could not decide whether it was by his finding, or by the hollowness of his own voice.

His opponent was fully robed now--he had not even seen her leave the lake. Her dark hair was wet and hung in tendrils over her pallid face. But it was the unnatural glow in her emerald eyes that made him shudder.

Blue sparks flew from his blades as they scraped along her stave. She shifted her footing as lithely as a cat and sprang to counterattack, pushing her weapon forward in a fluid, graceful motion. The magical crystal on her wand sizzled, and he barely managed to evade its fiery kiss. He found himself staggering as he lifted his blades to parry her second blow. She had the speed and balance of an elf, the strength of a human, and the savageness to match that of an orc.

"Who are you?" he repeated his question, his throat suddenly felt dry. "Are you Ner'zhul?"

Leprecha tossed her head up in mirthless laughter, "Ner'zhul, Ner'zhul. What would I do without him?"

"Are you the champion of the Scouge? Why is Frostmourne in your hands?"

"Sylvanas may not have been able to defeat the Lich King, but he was certainly not invincible."

"Impossible!" he cried. "Just what are you insinuating?" _Was she claiming that she was the reason for the Scourge's downfall? _

"I defeated him and claimed his treasured artifact."

"You cannot possibly mean you defeated the Lich King!" having recovered from his initial shock, he deftly parried another of her blows. "Don't you realize the absurdity of your fabrication? A child defeating the demon in whose hands kingdoms crumbled and princes died?"

He managed to open a gash on her stave-bearing arm. Dark blood soaked through the elegant fabric of her clothes. He saw her gritting her teeth.

A spell blast knocked him backwards and he tumbled down a small slope. He attempted to stand up when suddenly, he felt as though he was pinned to the ground by a hundred blades. He cried out as the world erupted into painful red shards around him.

_ His doubt was accounted for plainly enough. _

He tried to stand up on his feet and examined his wounds, expecting to see himself bleeding all over the place--no blood was visible, though the pain was still evident. His gaze immediately snapped upon her as she began to speak again.

"They did not know their enemy as well as I did," composedly, she set her stave down upon the ground. "That was the reason for their failure. But I have spent the better part of my life in the Lich King's prison. I have learned his strategies well--perhaps too well."

Frostmourne was out of its sheath, its accursed hum ringing in Khecomo's ears. The young sorceress approached him. It was then when it finally crossed his mind that she would kill him--it was certainly within her power.

"What do you want from us?"

"I told you--a truth," she said, her tone dangerous.

"What is this truth?" he had never trusted her--and his judgements held true. But was it too late for him? Was he to die this night? He knew he had to make it back to Kael and caution him against this witch, and yet he seemed to see no escape.

"That would hardly concern you," she stepped forward.

He backed away, stalling for time, "I have a right to know."

"You speak to me about rights?"

He tossed one of his weapons straight at her heart. Frostmourne whirled around and his curved dagger landed useless in the dirt. Another bolt sent him sprawling backwards, landing with his face in the mud. The dirt muffled his curses as he relived the pain of those hundred stabbing blades. He could not get up--and yet he knew if he did not, she would kill him.

"Well, I shall grant you the right to die quickly..."

She raised the runeblade and recited a spell. He was not trained in arcane arts, yet he knew it was a bad sign. He braced himself for the immobilizing pain...

...that did not come.

A scream pierced his hearing. Blue streaks of furious lightning darted from the sorceress before she could strike. Khec turned his head and found his king standing with his arms outstretched in concentration. Iria was behind him, her bow and arrows in place.

Leprecha's eyes gleamed with wild hatred as she attempted to intercept Kael's siphoning spell. But the blood mage stopped abruptly. There on his face was a mixture of confusion, fear, and recognition. He moaned, her name upon his lips, "You...are..."

"You know who I am--you always know," she answered quietly.

Hardly recovered from the shock of his discovery, Kael approached her, his steps unsteady. Both Khec and Iria tensed--the latter rushed forward.

But Leprecha cast Frostmourne to a side, its faint glint died as it hit the ground. She did not resist as Kael held her hands in his own. The gloves she always wore might deceive the eye, but not the touch--never the touch. Three fingers were missing on her left hand, attached to the arm that she never moved. His silvery gaze bore into her emerald eyes in guilt and perplexity. He understood what he needed to know. The woman standing in front of him, the astute sorceress, the blood-lusty demon child--she was the same girl who saved his life so many years ago and threw away her own.

Emotions choked him as he folded her into his arms. He barely heard her draw in a gasp.

"Elma..." he hissed, "Why?"

* * *

Wrapped up in a new black velvet cloak, the sorceress sat wordlessly in the empty tavern, staring into the dancing amber in the fireplace. It was barely autumn in Dalaran, yet there was a chill that cut to the bone--to the heart. Although outwardly she seemed contented to just sit in silence, Kael could read from her unconscious gestures that she was as uneasy as he was inside. Her slender fingers on her good hand drummed the arms of the chair as though she was impatient to be over with it.

The elf king sat facing her a small distance away, making no more sound than occasional sighs. He had been trying to weave words to bridge the gap between them, but words only failed him miserably. The day before, the two of them were strangers brought together by mutual use. This night, they were old friends, shocked by how the other had changed--and somehow he found their former dispositions easier to bear.

"You didn't know my father's last name, did you?" she asked suddenly. It startled him, "Or you would have known who I was before."

"No," he shook his head, extremely grateful that she broke the silence--just anything to start off a conversation. "What was it?"

"Brettshard."

"Ah."

The old stable hand called her by her last name.

"I thought to caution Tiurin, not only against you, but against all who knew that Elma Brettshard was dead and buried thirteen years ago in Dalaran. Her father was a dreaded demon. The last thing they need to know is that his daughter is back from the dead."

He nodded, guilt written on his face, "If I had known you were alive, if I had known there could be any hope..." He might have told her that he made a grave for her in Quel'dara as well--but not now. Not while she was alive, not while she was sitting across from him.

"This?" she pulled down the neckline of her robes to reveal the long deep cut across her left shoulder, "A cut like this can do no more than kill a child." And with a sorrowful expression that he at last came to understand, she added, "And that's what it did."

He stared at the scar, unable to speak--and with trembling fingers, he traced it across her body, wincing in pain as though it had been his own flesh under the blade. He saw the many other scars and burns she had suffered through the years--each of them on her pale skin were like stabs and scalds upon his soul. They were the punishment for his failure, and she had to be the one to take them, "Ner'zhul did all that?"

She sighed, "Most of them."

"I'm sorry," emotions strangled his voice, "I'm sorry. I could have saved you. I want to make it up to you somehow."

"What? Are you going to marry me?"

He looked at her. For a few seconds, his surprise was too great for him to speak.

The corner of her lips curled up in a sardonic smile--he did not need to be reminded how beautiful she could be. It did nothing but to increase the wrenching pain in his heart when he thought about the torment she had been put through.

"I was only jesting. You're too old for me," she laughed at him--and then he realized how stupid he must have looked with his jaw dropped. She perplexed him. He had been prepared to console an anguished soul, not be teased by a light-spirited teen.

"Still, I could have done something. I'll--"

"You did," she reminded him, suddenly her tone was solemn again as she draped her velvet cloak back around herself. "You let Sylvanas go. She freed me."

Many more questions came into his mind. He did not know which ones to ask first. But he figured this had to be of priority, "If Frostmourne is in your hands, is Sylvanas..."

"Held under my telepathy?" she blinked, "No. I have no talent in telekinesis--or so Ner'zhul told me. But then, he told me a lot of things that weren't true."

He believed her--she was not a stranger to him now, not the demon or the blood leprechaun. She was just Elma, though no longer a child.

"Sylvanas didn't kill your father," he said softly. "Alanen died by the lich king's hands."

"I know," she said darkly, not at all surprised by what he was saying to her.

"You know? And yet..."

"I was lied to," she whispered. "Ner'zhul made me believe that--maybe it was easier to believe him."

He was about to ask her what the last line meant. But he decided against it. It would pain him too much to hear. "Sylvanas was with your father in his last moments. She gave him her word that she would save you."

"She kept her promise."

"Do you...still hate her now?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

_Silence.___

_ Dreadful silence._

"What am I to do?" She began to tremble, "All these years, there's only been Ner'zhul and no one else. He had been my only teacher, my only family and my only enemy. He was the only thing I knew of love and life. He was _everything_--and Sylvanas arrived to take that _everything _away from me. I _have to_ hate her."

He could not think of anything he could say to comfort her. He understood the turmoil in her mind. But most of all, he thought he understood the true torment that Ner'zhul inflicted upon the young woman.

"But she took care of me--I learned some elvish from her--until..." Elma could not continue.

_Until Sylvanas was killed. Until she became Ner'zhul._

"What happened to her? How did it--"

He had not realized he asked the question until he heard it and saw her turn pale--and then livid.

"Don't ask!" anger surfaced for the first time upon that young face--raw, terrible anger. He shrank back from her, stunned by her violent reaction, "Don't ask!"

She bolted for the door. He heard her rapid footfalls heading up the stairs, followed by a slam of a door.

_ Don't ask! _

She was terrified by what happened to Sylvanas, and heaven knew--so was he. The outcome of the Dark Lady's transformation unnerved him, sickened him. He wondered what terrors had befallen his beloved--but perhaps he would much rather he did not know.

* * *

When Zypporah informed him the next morning that Lady Leprecha asked for him, Kael had a sinking feeling. He was not ready to face Elma again so soon after having aggravated her the night before. He thought he owed her an apology, yet he did not know a way to do it without reopening a sore.

But Zypporah just pointed at the window. He looked...

The morning sun caught in his eyes and reflected off the metal armour of a crowd that gathered outside. There, in front of the tavern waiting for him, were four hundred slaves of several races--humans, trolls, ogres, gnomes.

And some other creatures that he could not identify.

Lady Leprecha was weaving between rows of slaves, inspecting each and every one of them, her stave gleaming in her hands. Several of the slaves snickered nervously among themselves--it seemed that they did not enjoy the idea of fighting under the command of a young human female. Yet knowing that she was a mage, they dared not openly scorn her.

Quickly, Kael gathered Khec and Iria and the three went downstairs to greet her.

_ At least now, they had an army._

_ At least now, they had a chance of fighting Sylvanas and rescuing their people. _

* * *

**(THERAMORE, 4 WEEKS AFTER THRALL WROTE TO JAINA)**

The Warchief's letter addressed to Jaina Proudmoore was brought to the Admiral's Citadel by an elven runner garbed in midnight blue. Neither Railen nor Brysta happened to be present when this messenger chose to present herself. Two guards received it on behalf of the Admiral. Finding it rather suspicious, they asked the runner from whom the message was and of what purpose--the elf only told them that she delivered it because she was paid to and knew nothing about it. The guards remarked with some scorn that the mighty elves who had once branded themselves so different to humans should fall to the same slave-master--gold. They tipped her and let her go.

Railen was furious they did not think to retain her for interrogation--a correspondence from the orc warchief addressed to his traitor sister! Indeed he had been suspicious of their liaison, and this was proof that they were still conspiring something! The guards only replied that they did not feel the need to question the elf because--well, because she was an elf, and after all, she was too small-minded to be trusted with any great secrets. Besides, very few knew what really happened to Jaina Proudmoore. Most just assumed that the absence of their beloved lady was accounted for by her illness.

But on second thoughts, the two guards admitted to each other that the elf woman was very strange. She had an air of importance about her and did not look at all like the type to take on petty jobs. That aside, they agreed that she was hauntingly beautiful--especially her eyes. They would both dream about the blue starlight in her eyes sometimes.

Railen opened the letter and read it. To his horror, Thrall's tone was quite firm this time. Somehow, he always had the impression that the Warchief was hesitant to wage a war. Yet he sounded as though he was prepared in this letter. Railen took a moment to reflect upon his situation--Usven's forces might have pushed the orcs a bit too far too soon. Of course, he was _by no means_ afraid--to obliterate the orcs completely in his father's name had been his intention all along. Yet two week's notice seemed too much on the short side. He thought he should make Jaina write something to pacify the Warchief for the time being while he prepared his troops in secret for a massive battle.

But Sir Usven dissuaded him from it.

"Fear not, my friend," the Knight laid a hand on his admiral's shoulder--few men were entitled to such a privilege around the stern and self-important admiral, and Usven happened to be one of them. "The Light calls. The orcs will not win. Victory is at hand. How long must we hide from it?"

And with that reassurance from his general, Railen made a public demonstration of burning the Warchief's letter (while the blasted orcs were still on the main continent three day's sail away). Usven was given blessing to ride to the battlefield against the orcs and give them a proper greeting as they came ashore. Railen and Brysta themselves would guard the Citadel _valiantly_ should the foul brutes manage to breach the defences at the coast.

Usven, guided by the Dark Lady's wisdom, chose a battleground a bit inland to what his men had expected. He reasoned with them that it was a strategic location for an ambush. He emptied out the local villages and had the soldiers pretend in their place. Some still doubted the wisdom of his decision--he reminded them gently that he was_ their_ _miracle_.

And when the orcs sailed ashore and marched their troops onto the coast of Theramore, they were greeted by no hostile humans. They marched inland and passed through a peaceful, unsuspecting village.

"Ride to victory!" Usven shouted suddenly as he appeared from behind a crude brick house. All the innocent-looking villagers suddenly abandoned their work and unsheathed their weapons to greet the startled orcs. "Ride to victory!" the human general kicked the flanks of his black horse and rode forward with his sword held high.

_There would soon come victory. But whose victory? _

Usven impaled the first charging grunt in the chest. His sword came out dark with blood. The second orc was not too far off. He swept his weapon across his opponent's throat. He did not think he managed to sever the thick neck with one blow, but he knew he had done quite enough damage.

He charged, shouting for his mounted warriors to run down a line of grunts at the front. Hapless creatures! Foot soldiers would always be the ones to die first, their names never remembered, their deaths never glorified.

He let his sword swing freely, meeting a raider who just managed to parry his attack. The orc bared his teeth and reversed his stroke, and Usven blocked with ease. Although he was hardly as strong as the orc, speed and tirelessness aided him. In a competition of endurance, even one as robust and brawny as an orc would not outlast an undead.

Against mounted warriors, raiders undoubtedly had an advantage. Although their hounds were hardly as tall or noble as the horses the humans chose for battle stallions, their stinking bitches could bite--sometimes their jaws were powerful enough to snap the legs of horses and bring them to the ground. Several of Usven's knights were unseated as their mounts collapsed, and they themselves fell under the blades and axes of the Horde.

_ Usven was not afraid to die. _

What he did, he did for the Dark Lady. He had no regrets. He would gladly fall by orc hands, just as he would gladly run the humans to the ground.

Sylvanas's arrow pierced his heart--she had warned him by her telepathy, and he had turned just in time to catch her arrow in his breast. He bore it proudly, as he would wear a shining medallion with pride. He gasped a cry of feigned pain--her powers sheltered him from feeling any pain.

Seeing that their leader was injured, the humans clustered around Usven to see if he was hurt. He shook his head, snapped the arrow in two, and ordered them not to break their formation.

The orcs' reaction was quite the opposite. Sylvanas had penetrated their unbeatable warrior and caused him pain--perhaps he was not as invincible as he was rumoured to be after all. She let another three of her arrows fly, and they all pierced Usven through the weakness in his armour. Thrall gave a howl of encouragement to his warriors. They swarmed forward. The humans fought and faltered.

* * *

_ Victory._

Brysta dreamed about victory the night before the war. She took it for a good omen. To tell the truth, she did not care much about the battle. Everything was in good hands. Everything was in _Sir Usven's _hands.

With her arms folded in her robes, she sat in the study and attempted to concentrate on the magic scrolls laid all over her desk. Yet she found it impossible to concentrate. The battle was going on outside--a confrontation between the humans and orcs. She could hear the cries of death and triumph roaring, blending into one terrible voice. If she looked out from her window, she could see the skirmish outside, the blood-soaked standards flying, weapons clashing, men dying. It was happening all too close for comfort. She could not fight the feeling that something was about to go wrong.

But _what_ could be wrong under the careful manoeuvre of her brother and Sir Usven?

_Victory.___

She barely realized when the quill pen slipped from her grip and hit the blue carpet, leaving a black stain. She muttered a curse at her lack of concentration and bent to pick it up--when suddenly, she paused. She could sense a flux of magic--be it only a minor leakage of arcane power. She was aware of its chaotic nature. She stood up and started to turn when strong arms strangled her from behind. She thrashed and fought as hard as she could but to no avail. She saw the malicious glint of a runeblade, slitting her throat. She gasped and pressed her hand against the raw wound.

She had the notion that his body was cold.

Blood gurgled in her throat as she tried to use a spell against him--she knew it would be her last spell. But the arcane words eluded her, as though they had been siphoned from her mind. She flailed, gasped and weakened. He released her, and her lank form could do no more than to slide to the ground, blinking in incomprehension as she saw her murderer's face.

"Arth--"

"Die," said he, his voice resonating from far away. "Die, and taste my victory."

Green lights escaped from her body. She screamed silently when the immobilizing pain took over. She felt life leaving her. Fear gripped her for a moment--and then, she felt nothing. She seized to move.

But her eyes fluttered again. The gash on her throat closed. Her once pale skin shrivelled and was replaced by a greyish hue. But she was strong again as though she had never died. She got up to her feet.

"Now go and free Jaina," he commanded her. "Take her to the Dark Lady."

"Yes," Brysta hissed--there was a new and strange hollowness in her tone. "Yes, Master. I will take Jaina to the Dark Lady."

* * *

"I smell the stench of a free orc."

The Forsaken froze as their lieutenant frowned. His grimace was a terrible sight to behold--many lines formed on the rough, white features as they scrunched together like a crumpled sheet, his eyes gleaming in bright anger. He moved about the deck, busily shoving aside crates and barrels to uncover the prey that eluded his attention earlier.

"Me? I don't see any free orcs around," hissed a banshee in the body of an orcish sailor on board the Warchief's ship. "But then, this mind I have possessed is so slow and uninteresting I might as well dose off before I can think."

"Enough with that absurdity already," the dreadlord snapped, brushing her--or his--complaints aside. This particularly haughty banshee had to be a dratted high elf before her death. Varimathras had never been particularly fond of elven females, and it took someone as powerful and ambitious as Sylvanas to change his mind. But then, when she defeated him, she was an undead.

"Find the orc, every damned one of you lest he should escape and warn the Warchief of our plans!" the Nathrezim commanded.

The Warchief had gone off to war, leaving behind his fleet guarded only by a small number of sailors and foot soldiers. They were helpless against the Forsaken forces that ambushed them. The Dark Lady's plan was a bold one--but then Varimathras could not recall her making one that was not aggressive. She would have them hijack the Horde's ships while they were at battle with the humans and then upon their return force them to set sail for Northrend.

The Forsaken had long concealed themselves on Theramore, awaiting for the orcish fleet. Thanks to the Dark Lady's foresight, Usven made certain the clash with between the orcs and humans would take place far enough away from the shore to disallow the former party any chance of going back to rescue their fleets. Of course, being creatures of the living, the orcs needed food and provisions for the long journey. Sylvanas would provide them no reason to refuse her. Ghouls and crypt fiends silently stocked the decks with supplies.

There was only one small glitch to her success--that free orc who might make his escape and inform Thrall what happened. Although Sylvanas was powerful, she was alone--perhaps Usven and the mind-possessed Warchief would aid her. Yet against an angry mob of orcs who found themselves betrayed, Varimathras was not counting on chances.

He could still smell the stench onboard the ship. No doubt he would be looking for his getaway now, but it would not be easy with the Forsaken alert and searching the decks. He could try and hide, but he would not be able to forever.

No.

Where could one single orc conceal himself against a whole army of the Forsaken? Where could he possibly hide?

Varimathras descended decks below. Ghouls ran around, stacking crates on top of crates. The dreadlord accidentally knocked over a couple that contained dried fruits. With a curt grunt, he gestured for the lesser ghouls to help him clean up. They obeyed without complaining, picking up each piece of fruit. One of them gave a sudden yelp.

Ah.

Varimathras peered over two barrels of what he believed to be fresh water and found the trembling form huddled behind. To his surprise, the orc was hardly sinister nor prepared to fight. Instead, hers was a curved, feminine shape. Tears streamed from her piggy black eyes, tears that failed to touch the vampiric dreadlord--so this was the supposed hindrance to Lady Sylvanas's plan, was it? This insignificant female orc?

She was hardly a warrior, he could tell. Was she the cook? Was she the wife of someone?

"Feed?" hissed one of the ghouls almost hopefully.

"I'd say, nay," Varimathras decided. "Summon a banshee. Possess her. She might be of use to us."

Being trained a bit in the common tongue, the unfortunate orc woman was able to understand her fate even if only by a little, "No! No! Please! No!"

**No!**

Her protest was echoed by a more authoritative voice.

"Dark Lady," Varimathras felt his knee weaken as he placed a hand over his stilled heart. "What do you propose we do with her?"

**We will need her as she is. Take her prisoner.**

The orc looked at him in stupid confusion. She might have wondered why he paused suddenly to speak to himself, but she dared not.

"My mistress says to spare you--for now," Varimathras told her coldly as he signalled the ghouls to usher the woman away. They all heard Sylvanas's command and knew what was to be done with this worthless orc.

"Where go Manai?" the orc woman asked nervously in broken Common as the ghouls tugged at her and roughly urged her to follow. "Tell! Where go Manai?"

The dreadlord listened as his Dark Mistress spoke. His bloodless lips curved up in a sadistic smile, "To hell."

* * *

**Teaser:**

_Remember the man who faced off five hundred of the Forsaken alone._

_Remember his daughter who was foreseen to have even higher potentials._

_Grief is their weapon, and pain, their guard._

_Darkness is their Father who blessed the sorrow which flows in their veins._

And so it has been confirmed: Leprecha is Elma.

I haven't yet explained about Alanen and Elma's powers in RG, and I will do so in BL--and I've nicked that theory off one of my own original stories...Anyway, you'll see that it has a lot to do with the Erader and why Kil'jaeden had to find ways to contact Alanen in RG.

I dropped a hint about what really happened to Sylvanas somewhere in this chapter...heehee.

* * *

**Re: Suspected Plagiarism**

Author Felore has emailed me and voluntarily removed his/her story. He/she claims that the idea was his/her own and that it was a mere coincidence. Know that I do not make accusations lightly--it was after careful inspection did I come to that deduction.

**Even though I am still quite reserved, if this is what he/she claims, I will allow him/her the benefit of doubt. **

* * *

**A/N: **

I also really appreciate your response re: **BL** being my last War fic. I was really upset that night when I typed up the AN--and that was what I was planning to do had it not been for the huge support I'm getting from you guys. I won't stop writing (yet), but let's say that I've been investing too much time and emotions on fanfics, and I'll need to cool down a bit.

Right now, I don't have any plans for new Warcraft fics--keep on inspiring me. There will always be a chance I'll start a new one. I'll try and finish what I've started, and that is a lot of work too. Chances of seeing **Mirror of Remorse** and **Maiev** completed are slim though.

Shameless Ads: If you're a regular visitor of my DA account, you should notice two paintings of Leprecha and another half-completed one of Undead Sylvanas x mysterious war character--I am trying to decide between Kael or Varimathras.

Now take a deep breath. I've got a long list of people to thank (smiles).

* * *

**inaam07**: Thanks for caring. Haha, you almost got me telling you everything on DA. Stop tempting me, or else (smiles evilly)...

BIG HUGS. You were the first one to get it right--Leprecha IS Elma!! Hmm...but you changed your mind in the last chapter. Anyway, Nerz is certainly a patron figure in Elma's life--and I'm guessing we all know why now.

Thanks for your compliment anyway. As you can probably tell from my style of writing, I have a thing for plot-twisters. I just can't help it XD.

* * *

**Ride4Ruin**: Thank for your crit--it helped!! I admit I have the tendency to complicate my stories. I just have to be reminded from time to time that knowing my own plot well does not equate having the skill to make it clear enough for my readers.

Hang on a bit! The truth is quite simple--it is only the lies that make it complicated. I promise I won't branch the plot out until I untangle this bundle of twisters--whack me over the head if I break my own promise.

* * *

**Crimson Paladin**: Usven is back, and yes, you can more or less say that he has 'replaced' Alanen. Actually his 'dark powers' are more like attributes of being undead (meh). That's kinda why he doesn't die easily and doesn't require food. He doesn't really have mind-reading powers--he's just obeying Sylvanas.

My sympathy for the Black Warden also increases as I go deeper into the story. She'll use Kael, but ultimately, she's not after him or his power.

You're absolutely right about Leprecha. She's certainly not as tough as she seems--and you'll know what I mean when we get to the next chapter. It's only partly true that Nerz taught her that over-advertised spell as you call it (smiles)--more like he found a way to unleash her full potential. The power runs in her (and Alanen's) veins and Nerz has no access to it. More will be explained about her power later in the story.

Furion...yes, he's harsh with Illidan most of the time. But I will make him suffer in **Blood Leprechaun** and he'll somehow change into another person (I'm excited, hee!!).

Thanks for caring. Yeah, normally, I prefer not to jump to accusations, and I can totally understand that. But I'm glad it ended well.

* * *

**Demongod86**: Thanks for sticking up for me all through this (hugs). I've so heard that 'duck' quote before. Awesomely true.

Hugs to you too. Yes, Leprecha isElma, and her arm got hacked off. I don't intend to give out a lot about Davita's role so early in this story, but let's say she gets more important--and she's the sole person who knows what happened to Maiev. Kael will definitely meet Davita--but that doesn't mean he'll like her. As for Elma's allegiance... we'll see.

In the end, yes, Nerz will still pwn everyone cuz he's my ideals of a bad guy.

Thanks (smiles). You made me feel so much better too. I'm glad I made you read tho. I know how hard it is for non-bookworms to pick up something and read (I've always been a non-bookworm).

Yeah, since I'm not continuing the story '**Maiev**', I thought I just might bring Wyena over. I'm glad you liked her.

* * *

**Emerald****Forest**: Thank you for your support (huggles). I won't stop writing.

* * *

**Derek Chue**: Thank you so much.

* * *

**WingchumonZERO**: Thanks for the compliment. As we go deeper into the story, you will see that Elma is actually very unlike Jaina. Kael's only getting this impression because they're both archmagi who fights with similar styles, and because Jaina was the only human woman he's been really close to --which accounts for his misconceptions. Jaina, on the other hand, should be about forty years old in the 'present time' of the story. Leprecha is too young even for a disguise (ouch!).

Besides, I knew what I was gonna write a sequel when I said Elma was gaining importance somewhere in the A/N of RG (smiles).

Thanks for sticking up for me. I won't be leaving yet.

* * *

**Lord Arcane**: Haha. I think I have unconsciously based Davita on the Queen of Blades somehow--at least her appearance. She is actually somewhat like those vile tormentors now, and from what I perceive in the game, they look a tidbit like Infested Kerrigan. Davita's intentions will be revealed...soon. Tiani too.

* * *

**Trevor X1**: I'm sorry I distracted you--or should I say I'm glad I inspired you? (points to own **MGTO** and **My Ruins** and sighs) Disappointment, I hear ya--those two didn't get as much recognition as I was hoping they would. But do keep on working on your story!!

Poor people in this story indeed--can't think of anyone who isn't worth pity? I myself do not pity Thrall, even though he deserves a lot of sympathy in later chapters--I **know** what he's gonna do to Syl, and I don't like it. We'll see what happens.

Thanks for looking at my DA (hugs).

I'm hoping to talk **Wizards of the Coast** into publishing some of my original fics, haha. But not likely, since they have like 3000 of these pathetic begging and nagging each day or something. I'm prepared to send in a manuscript. Hear from me soon--I hope.

* * *

**arthus**: Thanks so much for your support, arthus (hugs). I won't leave (yet).

* * *

**Azzandra**: Thanks for reading, and thanks for your compliments too!! Congratulations for guessing it right too! Oh, Leprecha will get worse in further chapters. I love her and hate her so much at the same time it doesn't make any sense. Davita too. I can't quite decide what I feel about her. But never mind me--I'm ranting again. I'm sorry I didn't update. I should have earlier, but I was preoccupied...kinda, with homework and painting, I guess. Again, thanks for your support.

* * *

**GG Crono 4**: Haha. Thanks!! I'm not particularly blocked now (touch wood), but I've just been busy with homework and my painting. I've always wanted to try and write faster, but I can't seem to be able to do so...meh.

* * *

**Buehler**: What's that supposed to mean? Anyway, I thank you for taking the time. 


	12. Ruined

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**A/N:**

**J Cae**: I'm baaaaack!! Where's mmmmy fanclub?

**Kael**: J, it hurts me to go through this again, but YOU DO NOT HAVE A FANCLUB.

**J Cae**: ...I'm crushed.

**Syl**: Where have you been anyway? I'm starting to miss my story.

**J Cae**: I...eh...homework, term papers, finals, periods of extreme Blizzard-hate, falling out with a couple old friends, confidence crises, writer's block, paintings!! (if you like, check my DA (link on my bio) for Syl x Kael, multiple Elma paintings, Alanen, Davita drawings and a photo of me).

**Syl**: Sums up those two months, doesn't it? I personally am not going to forgive you for your lack of updates. You still haven't gotten to the part where I fought Nerz yet. I've been waiting for it since...since you began RG last July!!

**J Cae**: Working on it, all right? I can't live only on fanfiction. Now…two more clarifications before we start.

**Crowd: **Snore...can you shut up and let us get to the story already?

**J Cae**: One, I'm assuming that **Jaina**** doesn't know there's a difference between the Burning Legion, the Scourge and the Forsaken**--they were all grouped under Archimonde when she fought them.

**Jaina**: That's right. Treat me like a stupid baby (sarcasm).

**Elma**: So, is this part of your extreme anti-Blizzard-ism then? Seriously I don't mind cuz I'm your evil persona--I mean I'm not a Blizzard character (so please don't use me!!)--just curious.

**J Cae**: More like I don't have the cash or time for** WOW **(grits teeth).

**Elma**: You know what? You should get out there and write your own game or book.

**J Cae**: Where I'm headed. But in the meantime,** Blood Leprechaun will continue to be AU**, and I will not make adjustments according to that evil, evil MMO!! I am prepared to mercilessly ridicule any witless individuals who dare flame because this story contrasts with **WOW**.

**Syl**: Beautiful speech--now on to the story.

**J Cae**: (sighs) Nobody takes me seriously anymore.

* * *

**REMINISCENCE: SOVEREIGN**

_ "All those nights when I lay unconscious, you watched over me."_

_"I was imprisoned in another consciousness where dark and terrible demons torture my soul daily...Only you were there in front of me. The demons could not destroy me, for your light blinded them."_

_"I don't know what Kil'jaeden did to me, but there is some kind of evil stirring inside me..." _

_ "I loath myself! I hate what I have become!"_

"No, don't say that. Sylvanas, I love you. No matter what you might become, I'll accept you as you are. I'll always be here for you..."

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE: RUINED**

**(DALARAN, 13 YEARS AFTER SYLVANAS SAILED WEST) **

It was decided that the army would begin its march on the second evening of its assembly. Night had yet to fall over the outskirts of Dalaran after Kael and Leprecha finished briefing the soldiers. They had not expected the slaves to be elite warriors--Kael attempted to convince himself that the element of surprise would be enough for them to take the Forsaken's capital, but Elma had to be the one to remind him that they could never completely catch Sylvanas unaware. She must suspect something, although the young sorceress calculated that the Dark Lady could not, by an arcane principles, transport all of her warriors back to the Undercity at once to meet the invading troops.

Their army carried no standards, no flying emblems. Those things were only to boost morale, and an army of slaves had none. Earlier, two slaves openly mocked the notion of Leprecha being one of their leaders and she retaliated by demonstrating her magic on a hapless stray hound. That was unnecessary, in Kael's opinion, but effective enough. The two defiant slaves immediately kept their tongues behind their teeth. So awkward it would seem that though Elma was certainly the smallest in physique and the youngest by years, she was the one who wielded the most power.

She briefly went over the geography of the Undercity. Though it sprawled over an enormous area, the Forsaken's capital consisted of mazes and viaducts. The many narrow passages would make for perfect ambush. She told them of a secret entrance to the south of the city which she believed would be unguarded, since only those who were part of the Undercity knew of that entry. Kael almost allowed himself to be amazed by the complexity with which the Undercity seemed to be constructed--and he was prepared to be awe-stricken once he actually set foot into the hidden city.

When the meeting was over, Khecomo and Iria retired to the inn, needing more rest before the long march. Elma asked Kael'thas to accompany her and walk a little way around Dalaran. Though his king did not question, Khecomo was immediately suspicious of her motives. Not wanting him to create anymore embarrassment than he already had, Kael firmly ordered Khec to stay at the inn and await his return.

Khec had tasted the consequences for testing the leprechaun's patience the night before--had Kael and Iria not intervened in time, he was certain he would be dead. Why would his king give his complete trust to a murderess over a rider who has served him for years? He thought he could comprehend the guilt of not having been able to save a helpless child from torture--in truth, he had not been able to save his people from a similar fate. Though Kael was sentimental by nature, Khec feared the sorceress might have placed some awful enchantment over the king. Why had this Elma person dragged the elves into such dire situation--or, should he say, out of it? If she had not betrayed Sylvanas, Kael would have become the Dark Lady's slave, and Iria would most likely be dead. Khec did not know what would have become of himself. He could have been either or. What did Leprecha want? What had she to gain from this? And to whom did she truly owe her allegiance?

Khecomo was determined not to make another mistake again.

* * *

Kael'thas followed the sorceress to the scattered ruins of sorcery towers and other edifices, exposed to the sun and rain--the graveyard of a once-glorious city, the tomb of a proud civilization, now laid in waste and decay. It seemed to him that whatever reusable material had been salvaged from amid the ruins for the crude reconstruction of the city and left behind were rubbles that were of no more use--and yet they were the sole evidences of their former lives before the coming of the Burning Legion. 

Though Kael still preferred the style of elven construction, he had been impressed by Dalaran in its full glory. He felt a pang, now all that remained was this deadened sight, a memory. He had spent a great portion of his life with the Kirin Tor in pursuit of his arcane studies. He had not set foot into the human city again in the aftermath of Archimonde's power. Imagine how one would feel having experienced the destruction of her home firsthand...

His eyes traced the girl's lithe form as she moved to place a hand on a disintegrated pedestal. The stone surface had exfoliated, though he could tell it had once been an elegantly carved pillar of sorts. He could not in his life picture how the construction would have looked like before its destruction.

Perhaps there was something gentle in the picture that the young woman created as she bent to touch the marble slab, her eyes downcast, her expression mournful and distant as though she was recalling some fleeting scene of her former life. These ruins, these shattered blocks, these useless chunks--they had all been part of her former life, her childhood, her parents, her memories.

"I used to want to see this place when I was a child--the Violet Gardens."

He gasped. This was the Violet Gardens! His Kirin Tor, now all ashes and fragments.

"My father used to tell me that we cannot come here," she continued, oblivious to his shock. "The wizards have some magic wall that would keep the likes of us out."

"The _likes _of you?"

She ignored his question, "To the wizards, there was only one true form of magic--what they practised. All else were demonic. If they still exist now, they would look upon you as an abomination."

Kael sighed. He was ashamed to remember what the Council's theories were. Although he knew the source of his magic was not completely 'clean', times had changed and that 'true' magic the Kirin Tor endorsed was not enough to save them anymore.

"And I happened to end up wielding Kirin Tor's magic long after they are gone."

He remembered their conversation two nights before that she had been under Jaina's tutelage for some time.

"Elma," Kael struggled to begin, feeling a lump rise to his throat, "I understand there are things that maybe painful for you to recall. I don't mean to aggravate you or anything. But please--I want to know. I can wait until you are ready."

The sorceress looked away from him abruptly, her expression fell.

"Tell me about Jaina then. How did she end up in Sylvanas's hands?"

"She left with a certain warchief when the Horde attacked Theramore under the command of the Dark Lady. The Forsaken, of course, betrayed them in turn and Jaina became a hostage."

"But I thought Sylvanas said that Thrall betrayed her into the hands of Ner'zhul!"

"That was after."

Kael grimaced. _So much betrayal--Sylvanas, was I wrong about you?_

* * *

**(THERAMORE, SAME AFTERNOON OF THE ORCISH INVASION 13 YEARS AGO)**

Unnatural tremors woke Jaina Proudmoore from her fitful slumber. Earthquake? Or was it something else? She thought to roll out of her worn and filthy mattress, yet it would avail nothing. There was no window in her prison cell, no light. No way of knowing.

She could hardly recall how long she had been confined there, conveniently out of everybody's way. She did remember, though, how she was roughly roused from sleep one night and placed under arrest by the order of her brother. She had been prepared--she betrayed their father and gave the orcs a way to enter Theramore. She knew that would not go with impunity. She would not defend herself against the charges laid on her, but she only wished he understood that what she did, she did for the benefit of both nations.

Damn her naiveté. Damned if she knew why she believed that day of reconciliation between the two nations would come. She came close to admitting that she had made a terrible mistake and overestimated the wisdom of her brethren--they would only ever see her as a betrayer who killed her father, not the saviour who brought peace to the two war-torn races.

It also became very hard to convince herself she was not in the wrong after having witnessed Rexxar raise his axe to her father's neck. She knew she could never come to terms with her people--least of all, with herself.

Had her betrayal meant aught at all?

The hopes of peace were not high after her father's fall. Thrall left Theramore, indicating clearly that he would have nothing to do with the humans again. Jaina felt a pang. She had not expected him to fall onto his knees and beg for forgiveness, yet the detachment in his voice disappointed her. Had she sacrificed her father and her people's love for another excuse to prolong strife and segregation between the two peoples? She could not tell if she was in the wrong or right anymore.

Before she was confined, she heard of Railen's plans to launch a full-scale invasion upon the orcs on the other side of the strait--words of bravado. She might have found them touching had she been as embarrassingly short-sighted as he was. Yet what had her visions brought her but manacles around her wrists?

What was done was done, beyond redemption now. She had hoped that Railen would at least give her a fair trial and a chance to explain herself. But he had not. He was determined to forget her--the eyesore, the shame.

She gave up counting the hours long ago. Guards would show up from time to time to give her a bite of stale bread and some filthy dishwater. They were not allowed to convene with her lest _her groundless propaganda should corrupt their righteous minds_. For the first weeks she was thrown into the dungeon, she pleaded with them to allow her an audience with Brysta--despite the precise and merciless talent with words her sister possessed, she could be sure that Brysta would at least hear her out, while Railen would only explode in rage.

Yet this day, she awakened to find no guards to deliver her meal. She attempted to comfort herself with the thought that the hour was early. She would not be terribly shocked if her siblings had finally decided to smother what little hope she had of leaving the prison alive (if at all), although she wished fiercely they had thought of that sooner.

_No, perhaps, the hour was still early._

And damn it, she was starving.

The metal bars that blocked the way to her freedom clattered on.

_What of the tremors? What was the cause?_

If the roof collapsed, she would have found it quite amusing. Having been locked up for so long, she was bored beyond her sense.

She missed her magic terribly. Brysta, being a caster herself, knew her potentials--solid walls could not keep an archmage confined. She found a way to strip Jaina of her mana, though the latter never figured what was done. She longed to feel magic coursing through her veins again, longed to be out in the open, albeit that prospect, she admitted, was becoming rather dim.

_ More quakes. They grew disturbing._

Ah, footfalls. The guards must have arrived just when she needed answers--and hopefully, they would have some food for her. Inwardly, she was relived--perhaps she had not yet been forgotten.

But when streaks of lightning bolted the lock on her prison door, she jumped out of bed and retreated as far back as she could get in her dark cell. Who was this visitor of hers? Ordinary guards possessed no such magic. The footsteps, she recognized now as they approached, were hurried and familiar.

A black-hooded figure came into view--a female.

"Brysta?" Jaina cried out her sister's name in a mixture of horror, relief and sorrow. Had her request for an audience been finally granted? Or was she to be taken to her execution? The tremors--were they the thunderous cheering of those who condemned her? Oh, she should have known that day was coming.

"Come quick, Jaina," the dark sorceress beckoned. "You are wanted."

Brysta headed down the corridor without even looking back. A woman of few words, as always.

_ 'Come quick, you are wanted'_--_were these words what an executioner would say to her charge? _Jaina dared not trust to hope and followed grimly without a word. She might get to live for another few precious moments. Or she might not.

It never occurred to her that it would be so difficult to head down the hallway. Agonizing months of malnourishment, mistreatment and inactivity had stripped her of the strength she once possessed, yet it was her heart that was reluctant to follow, uncertain if she'd like what lie before her.

"Hurry," came Brysta's detached voice. Jaina picked up her pace.

When she managed to hobble to the end of the hallway, the sight took her by surprise. It was certainly not in her expectation to see maidservants lining up on both sides to greet her.

"Bathe and dress her," was her sister's command. "Make her presentable."

"Brysta, what is going on?" Jaina chanced a question. None of this made sense. She understood she was still a prisoner, bound to whatever fate Brysta saw fit, yet she ached to know. "What are you doing to me?"

"That would be no concern of yours," Brysta snapped with inhuman sternness.

"At least..." Jaina faltered. "At least tell me what the quakes are--you do not seem nervous."

In contrast to the maidservants who clustered around themselves in fretful anxiety, Brysta was cold as always--Jaina never did remember seeing much emotions surface on her sister's face.

Brysta made a grunt in her throat, "The orcs have invaded."

"Invaded?" Jaina cried in surprise. "But why..." she paused. Obviously enough, Railen must have done his good work during her imprisonment. She knew now--or thought she knew the reason Brysta released her, "Is Thrall..."

"Yes, he is leading the army, damn it," Brysta flared. "And stop speaking of him as though he is some sort of saint. He is just as savage and prone to corruption as the rest of his kind."

Jaina thought to argue. Thrall would _never _have started the war unless he was first provoked--and it became clear enough to Jaina who was to blame for the armed contention between the two nations. She had more questions, though she did not think it was a good time to ask, "Are you hoping that I could pacify him with my presence?" That would be the only explanation she could come up with for the maidservants and the bath.

"No," a shake of the hooded head was her verdict, "I am only trying to make you look like the one who betrayed Father to his death again."

The maidservants started to lead Jaina to the bath, not really wanting to touch her filthy skin. Before she followed them, she saw Brysta reaching to pull down the hood that was beginning to slip. Perhaps the fabric concealed her face well, but the greyish hue and the disease-blotted skin on the back of her hand was the tell-tale signs of undeath. Jaina's eyes widened in horror, her heart bled in denial.

"Brysta...you have the plague?"

The horror of Andohal and Stratholm flooded back into her mind. The plague--the term was an understatement--had swept through so many unsuspecting villagers. It was because of it she lost her beloved Arthas forever. It was because of it now she must lose her sister.

_Why Brysta? Why on Theramore? _

The dark mage did not answer, leaving the maidservants to tend to her hysterical sister.

* * *

The courier's eyes were wide with fear. His message hung suspended behind his clattering teeth and ragged breath. 

"Admiral...our defences...have been breached."

"Yes, yes," Railen hastily pulled on his gloves. "Do you see that I am fully plated in armour already?" The witless knave probably had not seen it--his eyes were glazed his and lips quivered violently.

"Their numbers...are plenty," continued the stuttering fool, "A great too many…we…"

"I will deal with those brutes myself," Railen snapped in frustration. "We must defend the Citadel at all costs. Now, run along and find Sir Usven. Tell him--if he is still alive--that he has much to account for."

But the envoy was no longer listening. He crashed to the carpeted floor, unconscious from exhaustion. In annoyance, the admiral ordered a few of his guards to carry the man away and send another runner on the errand.

_So the Miracle was a fraud, was he not?_ Sir Usven had better be dead, or he would have a lot of explaining to do. Was he some pathetic fool who claimed to be different? He might have had some luck on his side to have managed to harass the Horde and survived the brutes' wrath. He might have had some charm to have gained love from his followers, but after all, he was human, and it was evident enough. Usven had sounded so confident of his triumph against the orcs that Railen gave him his blessing and complete trust. If only he had not let his desperation rule him, he might have seen how false the _Miracle_ was.

"Admiral…" began another worried courier who entered the throne room. Half-expecting the message to be repeated again, Railen motioned him away when he caught sight of his sister--no, his two sisters. Brysta strolled in, bold as always, while Jaina shuffled quietly behind her with her head bowed low in shame--but why the splendid white dress? Why the sparkling jewels in her hair?

"Brysta, what is going on in your mind?" Railen barked at the black-clad mage.

"Being the oaf you always are, I certainly do not expect you to comprehend my ways," Brysta waved a hand. Jaina stepped forward, still not daring to meet the eyes of her enraged brother.

"What would that be?" Railen flared. The sight of the betrayer displeased him so. "I do not have time for games."

Brysta shook her head and sighed, thoroughly annoyed with her brother's incompetence, "Do you not see the power that she still holds? The _golden maiden _to the orcs? The Warchief still believes she fights on their side. He would hesitate when he saw her--and meanwhile, I will lay an arcane trap in this room."

"A clever plan, sister," Railen's features softened immediately. Just as he was quick to anger, he was also easy to please. But knowing him all her life, she was too familiar with his ways. He would be completely trusting of her. He would never know what she intended for him until it was too late.

* * *

**A/N**

Consider this chapter 9A. Really, really sorry about cutting off like this. I'm in the midst of my final exams right now, and I procrastinated some to edit this. I couldn't get the next part of what would have been this chapter to work right, so I'd rather post it next time when I have an idea what to do about it.

I guess I still really wanna keep going and write till **BL**'s end, regardless of what might happen in **WOW**. Like I said earlier, this story will continue to be AU, and I won't make any adjustments to make it fit the** WOW** storyline--you're very welcome to sate my curiosity by offering me interesting info, though. I know I haven't been doing my job well, and I'm really sorry about that. But please don't desert me--please? I'll be really sad if you do.

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**Crimson Paladin**: Yup. Information about Mrs. Brettshard was kind of a giveaway, although Alanen's death was a bit of a twister there. I don't think Ner'zhul would ever go to Elma and say 'hey, you know what? I killed your father, so now you have to fight for me'. The easiest way he could manipulate Elma would be by using her anger to serve his purpose. 

Sylvanas...the deeper I go into the story, the more I hate my new version of her--no! Must rescue Syl's image!! Well, she didn't really 'seduce' Illidan. It was more like a mutual development thing--but they both know it's not going anywhere. It was more like she saw Illidan as an emotional support, a replacement of Kael during the time when she needed him around.

Be patient, my friend. Frostmourne is yet another key element in this story--notice the way that Leprecha always carries the runeblade around? There must be a reason, no?

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**inaam07: **Yup, you surely were the first person. Thanks, dear. In the next couple chapters (I'm really hoping that I'd be able to stay on schedule, although from experience, things that I got so excited about usually happen like 10 chapters later), we will find out what happened to Sylvanas, and I'm getting excited already. Yeah, like I said to Crimson Paladin, it is much easier for Nerz to lie to Elma and tell her that Alanen died by Sylvanas's hands--that way he could manipulate her and keep her around. BUT once she found out he had been lying, guess what happened?--a quote from Weis and Hickman I find particularly true--"Evil always turns upon itself." Well, all right. Stop tempting me, and I'll stop giving out spoilers. 

_Elma must be crazy_? Well, I'm a bit reserved about that statement, though looking at the ending of my first draft, I am tempted to...nay, no spoilers. But she did love Nerz as a father, teacher, friend etc--because he was the ONLY ONE in her life for many, many years. But what Nerz saw in her was, of course, different. He was no longer human--or orc for that matter, and he did not need to depend emotionally on anyone. Besides, he was much too preoccupied with his games. So, yeah, he was indifferent to what she felt about him.

And nope. Elma never 'died'--well, Nerz banished her to the afterlife and then brought her back, but she's alive now. More will be on that later when we find out what REALLY happened at Northrend.

* * *

**Queen of the Harpies**: "Feed?" Meep. Ghouls are cute, sister. That's why both Syl and Nerz have 'em. 

I wasn't kidding when I said I'm in love with Varimathras (Keep to my online undead Naga personality? _Ssso__ we ssshall.__ Naga men aren't hot enough. We mussst lusssst after mussscular male demonssss and continue with our long-time Kael obsession...yesss_). I intend to increase Vari's role, if I can figure out some ways to work him into the plot. I kinda like the way he turned out too now, a bit mentally cruel, but not so much actually.

I eagerly await further updates of 'Forbidden Fruit', but take your time to explore a bit of this and that. Sometimes it takes rather long--like I've been fidgeting with Vari's inconsistent personality for over a year already! Um...are you gonna make that your SS entry?

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**Li Katsuya**: Thank you!! I'm famous for plot twists, it seems. Railen and Brysta are my OCs, though Jaina's true elder brother died in some war (very possibly against the orcs but I don't recall off the top of my head) and her half-elven sister Finnall Goldensword leads the half-elves (Daelin's 'been around' obviously).

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**arthus**: Thanks. You made my week! Yeah, I'm trying to finish up an original fiction while I struggle with my BA at the same time. I'm really hoping to see the day when I will have at least one fiction published--even if it doesn't sell well. Meh...Thanks again for your support.

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**Trevor XI**: Thank you. Ooh! Five stars!! I certainly hope that Wizards would take my story...it's set in a parallel world of ancient Bulgaria, and I've done a bit of research on that one. Ah well...we'll see what happens.

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**Elven-King-R**: (huggles) Yesssss. My goal is to infest the minds of all Warcraft gamers with an obsession for Sylvanassss...!! Since you're already a Kael fan I don't need to do anymore preaching. I know, I know. I was supposed to write in Illidan a few ages ago, but I wasn't too happy with the way he turned out. Instead, I've expanded on the Orgrimmar/Theramore part--originally you aren't supposed to know about all that so soon. I've decided to be a bit more coherent and go for the Elma & Syl storyline first. Illidan will appear right at the beginning of Part IV, which isn't that far off--if my predictions hold true, all mysteries revolving Sylvanas will be uncovered in the next chapter and chapter 11 will be the beginning of Part IV. 


	13. A Ghost's Interlude

**BLOOD LEPRECHAUN by J Cae**

**A/N**: Happy New Year, everyone!! Thank you again for your patience. For some strange reason, my muse is still stuck in Japan and unable to catch the plane, and I am giving up on the Thrall vs. Usven battle altogether. Then, I started writing this weird interlude just for fun...and it evolved in quite an unexpected manner. I figured I'll prolly postpone the block-inducing scenes till later!!

Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter. I hope you'd enjoy reading it too.

**Disclaimer: **My thanks to **Lacuna Coil** for taking me through my writer's block. **Falling **was stuck in my head (after looping it on my player for three hours--bloody awesome song) while writing this story, and I'll admit to stealing a line or two from that.

* * *

_And now the beat inside me_

_Is a sort of a cold breeze and _

_I've never any feeling inside_

_It's ruining me…_

_Bring my body _

_Carry it into another world_

_I know I live but like a stone I'm falling down_

**Lacuna Coil, Falling**

* * *

**THE GHOST'S INTERLUDE**

How he wished he could erase from his mind the stain of haunting emerald that bore into his core, her green eyes that scorched his confidence, that took his composure. He had to admit he was guilty of lounging in the delusion that he could will the skies to storm. Yet albeit the extent of his telepathy, all he ever felt was the cold that cut to the bone.

Ah yes, the young human prince's body was a blessing, the long-forgotten music of pumping blood, the treat of warm flesh adhered to the bone--that gift of a pure and tender mind that filled him with a painful ecstasy as he first tapped into it, and the intense fear of death as the boy's soul was ripped from his body. Arthas never objected to corruption, but his fear of destruction was so real--exhilarating. Ironic how the prince had taken so many lives, yet he dreaded to give his own. Now his mournful ghost could but hang trailing outside his body, unable to accept the betrayal of which he found himself victim. How ironic Sylvanas had sworn to kill Arthas, only to realize too late that there was no longer an Arthas whom she could kill when she reached Northrend. All that was left of him was a shade stripped of all power, and a shell resided by another more powerful being.

The ice walls of the lich king's prison were torn down, and he was free to walk the lands again. The extent of his power increased--it became so great it poured like the eruption of an endless volcano whenever he reached out. He was able to touch so many minds. He converted millions of hapless creatures into his worshippers, his cult. He used them to achieve his goals and defeated two of his greatest archenemies.

_What then? _

He could feel nothing inside. He did not even feel empty. Oppression within the throne seemed much easier compared to the purposelessness he felt. Even torture in the clutches of a certain demonlord's hands seemed kinder. He realized that he had aims back then. After he claimed victory, there was nothing left for him to fight for. He could see no point in ruling alone.

Perhaps it was some part of his former mortality that returned to haunt him. He suddenly recalled what loneliness was like.

And now, his eyes fell upon Elma who was conversing with the unworthy elf king. She was his pearl, his flower that he planted and watched over through the years. He never left her. He had attributed the guilt he initially felt for tearing her away from her father to Arthas's innate weakness. But now the memories of a painful wrench in the place where his heart had been brought back a nostalgic feeling for life. She became the personification of his will to live, his desire to be young and powerful again. He could never leave her.

He knew he had ruined her. He turned her into another Sylvanas, another selfish and vengeful soul. Sylvanas had been too old to die. She remembered living. She knew what she had been and what she was not. But Elma was too young to know life, too young to understand loyalty. He hated to think she was also his failure. In the end, even though she recalled little of her late father, Ner'zhul had to concede that Alanen had won. She did what her father would have wanted her to do.

_So close, yet so unreachable._

Now, she would be recounting the story of Sylvanas's failure and someone else's victory. There was almost none of that usual haughtiness in her tone. He wondered if the curse that was laid upon him ever affected her--he did not know if she was capable of feeling aught now that her vengeance was claimed.

He stretched out an ethereal hand. He could make her drop to her knees. He could even make her die. She could be a rag doll in his grasp. But no. He would rather she return and worship him the way Sylvanas did before he was to kill her for a second time, that condescending moment when she renounced her chances of winning and declared him victor. No words could describe the rush of sweet ecstasy that assailed his mind and his desire to feel it forever.

But then an unexpected blow struck hard. He was thrown from his conceit and torn from his frail human form. He watched the prince's body burn and shrivel in unholy fire, impaled by Frostmourne, slain by the one sword that he forged over a roaring fire. He watched as his victory was usurped from him. The dying breaths of Sylvanas belonged to someone else in the end. He was denied of her death--he could not even sound his protest because he no longer had a mouth to cry out with.

He could not draw his gaze away from the young sorceress now, even if he tried--but he did not. She alone would give him purpose for his existence now. She alone. He would make her worship him.

_Alanen's__ daughter, do you realize you are not yet immortal. I have promised I will give you that when you grow strong enough. But even now, you are still a child, still so frail and careless..._

_I am jealous of you, a mortal child...so very jealous beyond my logic. I wish I could explain it, patiently, like I always did. I wish you would sit next to me and listen quietly, as you always did. But that cannot happen anymore, can it?_

_But now, I will show you just how much I envy you..._

* * *

As his blade hit home, Elma crumbled right under the weapon. Her mouth widened in a silent scream. With a swift jerking motion of his hand, he freed the blade--that was when she shrieked. 

"Khecomo! What are you doing?" Kael lunged to snatch the weapon from his hand, but he was quicker and eluded from the mage's grasp.

"She must have wanted to separate you from us and do you harm! I cannot allow that to happen!"

The rider took a moment to revel in his effortlessly claimed victory--but only for a moment. His horror overwhelmed him. He had expected to slay a witch, an assassin, but this wretched opponent of his was far too frail. She fell too easily by his hands. Had he in his mad impulse murdered a child who offended him with her sarcastic gibes? She attacked him earlier at the lake and almost killed him, but, to be fair, she was first provoked. Was he the one whose mind was tainted?

But the sorceress toppled to the dirt and ceased to move. Blood flowed freely from her side where a wound was opened.

Khecomo reacted first. He crouched and pressed his fingers to her wrist to take her pulse. When she did not respond to his touch, he turned her over--and that was when her hand shot up to close tightly around his throat. She was remarkably strong for a girl so young, especially one in her disadvantageous state. He tried to free himself by standing up, but her grip was firm. He stumbled on top of her--apparently this was out of her calculations as well. She gasped as his weight crushed her, yet her grasp did not lax even as she fought her own agony. Acting purely out of self-defence, Khec slammed the hilt of his blade into her temple, knocking her senseless. Her hand sagged motionless to a side.

He was free.

What now?

His king's features were drained of colour, "What have you done?"

_What had he done?_

_What had he done indeed?_

He dropped his weapon as though it burnt his hand. Why? Why had he done that? Why? He knew it in his heart that Leprecha meant Kael no harm, not then. Why did he find himself possessed by mad rage to drive his sword into her spine? His heart wrenched painfully as he averted his gaze from the pathetic, bloodied form that was Leprecha. He distrusted her. He hated her. He believed she committed more evil than he had ever imagined possible. But she did not deserve a death like this. He fell to his knees and prayed feverishly that there was some way she could be saved. But she was unresponsive. She was barely even breathing.

So young...she was a child. She was only trying to help, even though she had yet to name the price for her aid.

Kael gathered the wounded sorceress in his arms, rubbing her hands as though he could somehow rub some life back into her. "Elma..." he hissed, "You can't die. You can't. I've failed you once. I can't fail you again."

"I'll...I'll fetch a healer," Khec said, numbly. How ironic--it was only minutes ago when he wanted to see her dead.

"No! Leave, Khec!" the Blood Mage's burst of anger shocked him. "Go where I'll never have to see you again!"

"But milord..."

"You heard me!"

"But milord...what about...the rescue?"

"You forget--there will be **no** rescue without Elma!" Kael fumed, his eyes flared with an angry white light, "We don't know the geography of the Undercity half as well as she does! We will have no advantage--Sylvanas will kill us all!"

And Khec swallowed hard. It was then when he realized he had not only destroyed a young villainess. He had destroyed his people's future. Why had he not thought of that before he acted? What had prevented him from thinking clearly before he acted?

"Let me do this then--let me fetch the healer. And then I will leave."

* * *

_So you know..._

_So you see..._

_My child, you are not invincible..._

_

* * *

_  
**Disclaimer, A/N:**

Ooh. I broke me promise and gave this story yet another twist. Everything changes from here--for worse or for better? Stay tuned, because we will visit Kalimdor shortly.

Readers and reviewers, thank you. You guys always make my life so much happier. Thanks for your support--and please forgive me for being a review-whore just for this one A/N, lol. **BL** has become the second of my fanfics on to hit 100 reviews!!(prostrates self before reviewers) and it also has the highest review/chapter rates, averaging at 9 reviews per chapter last time I checked. Love ya all. Group hug!!

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**Crimson Paladin**: Well, after this update, no, Kael and Leprecha are no longer setting off to confront Syl...The Black Warden will definitely be one of the most crucial characters in **BL**, and she will be back again soon. Again, you raised an interesting question. Sylvanas didn't go to Azeroth because she didn't want to. She actually took off to Kalimdor to escape Kael, not Ner'zhul. In an earlier chapter I mentioned it too that if Nerz were to find her, he would, regardless where she is. She just wants to get away from Kael where he can't reach her. Seems hard to imagine, but in some ways, Syl here is a reflection of myself. I've been in a relationship like that before, been with a guy whom I'm not really sure whether I love or not, and I ran away--although I didn't run for thirteen years, I did fly over the Pacific Ocean to get away from him and to sort my feelings out--I always get my inspiration from awkward moments of my life. Oh, no. He wasn't 'Kael' enough for me. Didn't work out. Apart from that, yeah, Illidan would be a problem in Azeroth.

* * *

**inaam07: **Missed you so much!! Yup, yup, I find joy in confusing people. Just a clarification though: Elma was never undead (I can't promise 'will never be'). The whole 'soul-stealing' thing didn't actually involve killing her, and in fact, Nerz only banished her soul into the afterlife and then summoned it back after he killed Alanen--she's as alive as Kael, pretty much, when Vashj/Meris chose to release him. Illidan is edging his way closer and closer...

* * *

**Elven-King-R**: Ouch. I actually wrote that before I read the Simarillion. But I totally agree that the previous chapter is lacking a certain something. It's almost like I've forgotten how to write. This and the next chapter came way easier though...

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**Lord Raven Drakon**: Thanks for the headsup. I KNEW Rokhan should be MIA somwehere!! Balnazzar wants to kill Sylvanas, right? Right? Gosh, I know I hate him!!

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**Kazza**: You're the lucky person!! I actually came up with something a day after you left me a review (psst leave me more reviews and I might be able to write faster). Thanks for your compliments. I like where Illidan is heading as well--just wait till we get to the good part.

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**I)void**: I missed you too!! Thanks for your support. Woot!! I made it!! This took a little longer, but it wasn't a two-month-er. Heh.

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**wingchumonZERO**: Thanks.

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**Azzandra**: Thank you!! (takes cookies). Here, have some brownies (hands brownies). I'm glad the finals are OVER. Not the best thing I could have done, but they're OVER nonetheless.

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**Li Katsuya**: Thanks for reading. Uh huh, everyone's pretty much screwed, lol. Night Elves will be inching, inching, inching their ways to the stage.

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**Cybaster**: Heyy! Haven't seen you in quite a while. How's life going? I see you've got a new fic. Looks good so far, but I regret I haven't had time to go through it in detail yet. Thanks for your comments on BL anyway. A definite confidence-booster (hugs). 

In order not to give out spoilers, I shall say nothing about Thrall's fate, although the Theramore invasion will most definitely be a large factor in the plot--in fact it will pretty much determine Jaina's fate.

As for **Listen**, thanks for showing an interest...I have pretty much combined **Listen** and **BL** into one, although in the original **Listen**, neither Sylvanas nor the Black Warden will ever show up in Kalimdor to make a mess of things. To be honest, I'm not sure about completing it. But we will see.


	14. Betrayed

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

_You don't know, I won't let you see me_

_I will hide and I will lie as true as can be._

_You just don't have what it would take_

_To be a part of me_

**Lara Fabian, "Part of Me"**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN: BETRAYED**

** (NORTHREND, 13 YEARS AGO)**

_Awaken. Awaken, student. _

With much difficulty, she forced her eyes to open. White lights invaded her world and burnt her eyes with such fury it almost undone her. Held fettered by her agony, her mind refused to work and she could not make out what she saw.

Lips-frosted, bloodless and barely moving-curled into a sinister snarl she was so accustomed to seeing every waking hour. His face was concealed forever behind his cold metal visor. But he was speaking in her head, his voice so loud and disruptive to the blissful oblivion she was dwelling, his voice the only sound she could hear.

_Rise, demon child._

The six-year-old did not know his name. She had been instructed to call him 'master'. He had been her caregiver ever since she was lulled back to life by that strange baritone, that half-whisper that resonated in her nightmares. Once again, she woke to find herself in the same white place, devoid of all warmth and life. No traces of the home she once knew were present in the frigid air.

Her severed arm dangled useless from her shoulder, held in place only by a thin strip of flesh that threatened to give way. She did not cry. She was too young to understand what he had done to her, but she was, perhaps, still young enough to trust her instinct.

She did not like him.

_It hurts, does it not?_

White long hair fell in tendrils in front of his silver visor as he leaned forward to look her in the eye. Blue streaks of fuming aura escaped from his empty sockets. The gleam of sincere anger pained her eyes, and she longed to look away. But he overpowered her, forced her to hold still with his telepathy. It was not long before she conceded defeat, remaining motionless. Her face was that of a child's, but the haunting sombreness on it was well beyond her years.

The only pain she felt was from the biting cold that cut into her flesh. Slowly, she tried to nod, but her lying position made the movement difficult.

But he prodded her mind and pulled her up, ignoring her feeble cries as he handled her wounds roughly. _Betrayal hurts, _this time, his bloodless lips moved elaborately. _Learn your lesson well._

She nodded again, her head dropped in one curt motion like a rag doll that sacked from its master's grip. She understood nothing, but she only knew that by giving him what he demanded would stop the torment. Somehow, he always seemed to be able to read her intentions, and he would abuse her for as long as her young mind could take before finally releasing her from his telekinesis.

_That was how much you hurt me, _the anger receded from his voice, although not the iciness. _Betrayal is a cripple, Elma. Never do it again._

He took her severed limp in his cold grasp and placed an enchantment upon the wound. Flesh sealed, leaving no scar on her tender skin. Blood pumped through the damaged arm again and colour and senses returned to it. But the three fingers that were severed with one swipe of his sword were still absent.

_I will not heal them, _he told her sternly, once again, looking into her thoughts. _This is a lesson you must never forget, student._

The child barely heard him. Her mind wandered as soon as he released her from his telepathy. She sought anything to fortify her mental freedom…listened to the creaking of icicles as the wind moaned against it, the soft requiem of the drifting snow, the frozen seas weeping…

_Just remember- I am your master, and I am the only one who can help you. _

* * *

**(DALARAN, PRESENT)**

"And you dare call yourself a healer!"

"You have no idea what this is to me!" Zypporah wrenched her apron in her sweaty palms. She did not feel the tears rolling down her cheeks until her husband's clumsy fingers moved to wipe them away. But she turned her head and dried her eyes with the back of her hand. Pride would not allow her to weep in front of that shabby elf rider. "To refuse to save a life when I know full well I have the skill to restore it-I cannot in good conscience do that. But if I heal her, hundreds more will suffer. You cannot be so cruel to fault me for this."

"How can you say something like this-" but Khecomo's tone dropped, anger fading. He himself had wanted Leprecha dead but a moment ago. How could he not understand the destructive plague that the girl unleashed upon the villagers to rob them of their peace. "What if I make her promise she would waive the debt? Would you heal her?"

"Oh, if only it could be so simple, we would have done that long ago-" said the tavern-keeper. "She does not need the money-but she knows we need it. The Highest Light forgive me for saying this, but we should have burned her after she used that dreadful spell-"

"No, my dear," Zypporah pressed her hand firmly on her husband's shoulder and forbade him from continuing. "Do not speak so harshly." She cast her glance to the floor for a moment and breathed a sigh. Hesitantly, she nodded to Khec, "Very well then. I will look at your sorceress. But from what you are telling me, it might be beyond my skill."

"Zypporah, do you truly consider healing her after all that she had done?" her husband halted her. He was more confused than surprised of her choice.

"I am a healer," the woman whispered, darkly. "And after all, she had once saved us from a raid."

She moved from behind the counter of the tavern and followed as the rider waved for her to follow him impatiently. She hated his haughtiness and loathed the one she was about to heal more, but such was her choice. Without a word, she hurried after him, and they ran to the ruin site where Khec had left the sorceress with Kael...

..._only to find that they were gone._

* * *

An ominous shadow fell across the bleeding body of the leprechaun. Kael'thas lifted his eyes to behold a hideous figure that intercepted the light. Her obsidian armour reflected nothing even as the sun caught on its surface. Her dark green hair flowed to her waist like a polluted river. Two scrawny black arms protruded in wrong directions, their claws menacingly sharp. A third arm was the shape of a curved blade, its surface rusted with dried, dark blood. The helmet enclosed her features to that they were impenetrable—her eyes were so deep Kael suddenly wondered if she had a head. 

He drew back in fright, wrapping the sorceress tighter in his arms.

He recognized this horrific visitation now, the same monster who fought on the enemies' side while Sylvanas, Illidan and himself struggled to push Ner'zhul's craven forces back from the seashore thirteen years ago. He had not seen her since, but he knew immediately, that she was the one whom they called Black Warden, the walking nightmare. Her terrible stature that towered over him seemed almost alive-he could hear her loud and steady heartbeats-_thud thud, thud thud._

Two hearts that beat in synchrony.

"Why should you fear me?" she asked. She spoke in Kaldorei-he had heard her voice somewhere before. "You know me. We have once fought Illidan on the same side."

"I have no business with you, you being of evil!" Kael knew he would be testing her limits-if there was to be a duel between them, let it be swift. He had little idea how strong his enemy was, or if he would be able to hold out against her. But he did not care to know.

"Oh, but have you not served Kil'jaeden, Illidan and Sylvanas? All three of them are more terrible than I am, do you not think?" Mirthless chuckles escaped from her helmet-they sounded strangely hollow, "No, Lord Kael. You have only forgotten who I once was. But let us put the past behind. You have served Kil'jaeden and became a blood-lusty demon worshipper, just as I have become something different. We are even in those terms. But let me tell you, that it was I who provided you with your troops to march to the Undercity. I can grant you more-you need but say so."

"Davita!" Kael instinctively looked around for Khecomo who had been gone for quite a while. He almost had a moment of regret for what he said to the rider and wished that he would turn up soon. "My guard will return any moment now. You best keep your distance!"

"I don't think so," the Black Warden shook her head. "I don't think it possible to find a healer who would save Elma. The villagers all hate her. They would rejoice had she died. Sad to say that Leprecha has made herself as many enemies as did her late master-one can expect no less from the student of Ner'zhul."

Kael wished he had thought of that. He could see her reason. Leprecha did not seem the type who would ever be grateful enough to waive the villagers' debts-they surely had no reason to wish her alive.

But could he hope?

"The child will die, and I will let her die-unless you wish for her to live," there was something in her tone he found cynical-perhaps not only her tone. Her whole being conveyed of corruption, "Just say so, and I will tell you a way to save her."

He trusted her about as far as her bony fingers could reach, and yet he was beginning to be convinced that she harboured no hostile intention in her visit. Perhaps she was not here to bring him harm. He knew she would have smote him long ago while he had been caught up in his grief and unaware of her presence-she need not have waited. "Speak frankly and quit playing games with me," he demanded. "What is it that you want?"

"You see, I have what you need-troops large enough to take on the Dark Lady's legion, guides who are familiar with the Undercity. I can help you rescue your people."

He repeated firmly, "Speak frankly! What is it that you want?"

"I need you to draw Illidan out so that I can kill him."

"No."

"You wouldn't call him a friend, would you? What difference does it make?"

"No, you can't make me do that. If I am to help you kill him, I would need a reason."

Her bent forward to close her claw around Elma's neck, "The girl dies then-that is your reason!"

"No!"

A blast of black energy erupted, and the Warden withdrew her hand in pain. Her features suddenly became visible behind her helmet as she scowled hatefully at Kael-but the expression smothered as quickly as it came and she donned her mask of torture pain again, "But what would you not give to save her life? What would you not give to return your people to safety? I can grant you both, and I only ask you to locate the Betrayer for me. Is it too much to ask for?"

Stunned by what he had seen beneath the helm, Kael was now even more hesitant to do her bidding, "Why? Why do you want me to help you? Isn't there some others you can bother, who can tell you where Illidan is?" But the answer came to him almost immediately as he was asking his questions, "You want Elma alive as well, or you would not have come to make such an offer of me. Why is it so?"

Silence. Kael could hardly tell if the mutated night elf was ready to pounce on him, or if she was about to leave, "You can say that the sorceress and I are allies with similar vision but different goals."

The woman paused there. Kael waited, but realized she was not going to continue, "And?"

"And her skill as a sorceress is greatly prized."

Objection formed on the elf king's lips when Davita added hurriedly as though she knew she had not convinced him, "Her parentage-surely you knew of her father and how craven demons all desire her power. If her soul is allowed to be taken from her, just imagine the havoc that would cause."

"True, but that does not mean you persuaded me to help you kill Illidan."

The Black Warden choked back a low, dangerous growl. She shook her head twice to clear her head, as though that sound had not come to her voluntarily. She reminded him of an animal-a tortured prey fettered fast by a hunter's web and could but occasionally muster strength to struggle. Kael backed away from her, carrying Elma in his arms. Oh, how much time had been wasted? How much longer could she hold on? Where was Khec?

"The vile Betrayer is worthy of no man's defence!" cried the Black Warden as she stepped forward to retain him. "Have you seen him these past thirteen years? Do you know how he corrupted the Kaldorei? How he tainted Tyrande, our most beloved leader? He has changed into something even viler, and even now he runs rampant to the Night Elf villages and bewitched the Priestess to shelter him!"

Kael paused, his jaw hung agape though no words escaped. This information was too much and too sudden. It was only after a few seconds when he blurted out an attempt for a question, "What?"

"Yes, yes," Davita breathed, her voice evidently calmer. "It is true, what I tell you. The Betrayer must be stopped, Kael."

"I don't believe you!" the elf king shook his head, turning to run. "Back away from me, hellish fiend! Take away your lies!"

The Warden vanished, only to reappear seconds later to bar his path, "See for yourself! You didn't believe Sylvanas could have become so vile either." She created a portal behind Kael who was trapped between her and her power. He attempted to move away, but the wayward energies that swirled around the portal were much too chaotic he feared it might do Elma damage had he attempted to break through.

"Go and see for yourself!" the Black Warden repeated, and giving him a hard shove, she pushed him through the portal.

* * *

When the energies dissipated, Kael found himself within a stone-walled maze, lit only by suffocating torches that looked as though they were about to die out. He had no idea where he was, although the awful stench of excrement or decay told him something he needed to know. The Black Warden was still in front of him, her dark and offensive form moving swiftly down the hallway. He had no choice but to follow her. 

He could feel Elma's life ebbing further away from his embrace. He held on tight to her as though he could somehow hold her together from falling apart. He bid the Black Warden hurry-if she wanted his help in finding Illidan, she had best find a healer swiftly.

A shadow approached to greet them from the other side of the hall, confident strides that sounded vaguely familiar.

"By Elune, Davita. You are back."

A..._night elf?_

"Mistress Shadowsong," the Black Warden bowed low with genuine reverence. "There has been an emergency, and I need your aid. I would not have returned otherwise until my mission is accomplished." She indicated a barely conscious Elma in Kael's arms. "She needs your skills. She needs your care. It would not do if the Master finds out that she sustained...damage." She stopped short. Kael was too caught up in his anxiety to hear her little secret, although in retrospect, he should have been more cautious of their ulterior motives.

"I see..." came the composed reply as though nothing could surprise her any longer. "Very well then. Take her to my room. Ah, a guest here."

"Yes, Mistress. I forgot to introduce us-this is Kael'thas Sunstrider, King of Quel'dara."

"Well met," the night elf stepped forward from the shade into the torchlight. "I am Rue Wyena Shadowsong. Although you are a guest here-and an exalted one, I regret I must make you say an oath that you are never to repeat what you see or hear during your stay." She was an aged one. Even though time had no effect over her, her forehead was starting to line with stress, and her unruly light blue hair that cascaded down to her waist seemed to frame only a despaired face. All that he saw was a withered woman who seemed exhausted-not a trust-worthy face.

Kael demanded quickly, "I will make no promises until I know whose side you are on." He had dealt with Vashj and her trickery before, lamentably. He knew he should not fall for the same old tricks again.

Rue Wyena turned her head. Half-cloaked in shadows, Kael thought he imagined a vicious expression upon her face. "The priestesses-they are enemies to Davita and all those who attempt to help her. They see her as a monster, but they do not realize the truth-they are far more corrupted. A shame they call themselves followers of the loving Mother Moon."

"Tyrande Whisperwind and Kirah Greenstar are both determined to see me dead," the Black Warden added bleakly. "Well, the latter has always been cold, but Tyrande used to be kind to me."

"If it was not for the Betrayer's evil influence," added Rue Wyena heatedly. The anger in her voice signified the end of the discussion.

Could Rue Wyena and Davita both be lying? Or had they staged this little drama just for his sake? But time was pressing. He was certain Elma could not wait, "All right then. I will swear secrecy if you can help Elma-but first, tell me where we are." The sorceress's feeble frame weighed far less than the anguish that burnt in his heart, her blood soaking through his tunic, her blood leaving a trail behind them, her blood poisoning his skin.

"You are in the Barrow Deeps-above us is where the night elves dwell," the Black Warden replied as she motioned down the hallway. "Bring the girl this way."

* * *

No sunlight passed through to the caverns deep underground, shrouded in gloom as though to foreshadow unspeakable sorrows. Kael tried not to allow the miserable surroundings affect him, but even given his ancestors' former Kaldorei heritage, he had never been at ease in the dark. Unlike the two wardens who moved swiftly and easily as though they were born to darkness, he paced cautiously through the shadow-draped hallways, deep into the dungeons underground. 

He followed them into an antechamber where there was no furnishing except for a bed. Even without touching it, Kael judged the surface to be so hard he could place a goblet full of wine without fear of spilling its contents. But this was Rue Wyena's room, or so he had been told. He judged it was the Warden women's habit to lodge in beds as hard as tables so that they would not sleep too deep and forget to be vigilant.

Kael placed Elma on the bed as instructed. The Light was being merciful to her she was still insensible as Rue Wyena peeled off her blood-soaked clothes. Kael had to avert his gaze as the many scars gaped back at him to remind him of the oath he failed to carry out. The smear of blood amplified the gash horribly. Rue Wyena tore a strip of bandage to clean the wound. The stroke was an inch under the girl's heart, parallel to her ribs.

Without slowing to hesitate, the warden recited an enchantment Kael recognized to be a cleansing spell. More blood gushed from the opening, oozing out any contamination that might culture inflammation. Then, she double cast healing spells to mend the damage. The wound closed but did not fade. It was likely to leave another scar, yet another token of Kael's failure.

"I have healed much of the damage," the old warden turned to Kael when she was finished." Her own powers will do the rest. It will take a while for her strength to recoup. I will give her a draught to help her sleep."

"Thank you for all you have done," Kael dipped his knee-no other responses seemed more appropriate to express his gratitude and relief that he had not come all the way to Kalimdor for naught. Perhaps the wardens could be trusted, and what they said was true.

No. He kicked himself inwardly for loosening his guard. Their healing Elma meant nothing. They needed her alive regardless what their schemes for Illidan were. They needed her to be on their side, and that was likely why they provided Kael the troops he needed to rescue his people. They needed to bribe him to keep Elma on their side.

But why? For what reason? Did they need her to battle Illidan? He attempted to work out an explanation, but suddenly he found himself too drowsy to think. His head hurt abominably as though it was not Leprecha who had taken a knife in her ribs but himself.

'King Kael?" Davita appeared in front of him, concern in her voice.

"I am sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

"Are you all right? Can I get you some food?"

It was true he had not eaten since he agreed to go to the ruins with Elma, and how long had that been since? He did not know if it was the unsettling appearance of the Black Warden or the vile stench in the Barrow Deeps, or if it indeed was due to the revelation of Illidan's new corruption-all appetite fled from him and he felt he could retch even at the taste of the finest cuisine in all of Azeroth.

_ "You must be weary-it had been a trying time,"_ someone spoke. Kael could not make out who the voice belonged to. His visions swam before him. Somehow, he had the impression that the speaker was neither of the wardens in the room.

"…first room to your right …outside…"

He could not answer them, and only followed the black shape of Davita as she shepherded him to a dim room. He did not even remember hitting the mattress, but the last realization that dawned on his mind before everything faded to black was...

..._sleep enchantment_.

* * *

**_Kael'thas_**

Kael was startled from his sleep. This voice-he knew this voice. It had haunted him often in his dreams he might as well still be slumbering away. But his consciousness was elsewhere, in a bleak world with nothing but her voice to fill the void. _She was everything._

**_ Of all deceivers and charlatans, you choose to leave yourself in the mercy of those two. Kael, love, I think I've overestimated your intelligence. _**

_ "Sylvanas!_ How did you know..." he caught himself. Of course. Over the years, her telepathy must have strengthened. Besides, who could say how her merging with Ner'zhul had affected her.

**_Hush. I once swore that I would never prod your mind. Forgive me, but I must speak with you. Be warned. The wardens have ulterior motives for Elma._**

No. This could not be the Sylvanas who had become Ner'zhul! There was no hostility in her voice. No danger. Only concern. "I don't understand. What happened to you, Sylvanas?"

**_This isn't the time. You've just placed the girl in grave danger._**

"In danger?" Kael would have been frowning with his non-existing brows. "From whom? From Illidan?"

But the Dark Lady of his dreams evaded his questions, **_Don't let her take any food or potions from Rue Wyena._**

"The sleeping draught! It's too late!" To think that he had thanked the sage for her aid before he knew what exactly the concoction could do! _Kael'thas__ was such a careless fool!_

**_Have a care next time,_** advised Sylvanas. **_And never let her out of your sight. _**

He took a moment to compose himself. No. He could not associate this voice with the monstrosity that invaded his castle and enslaved his people. He could not envision how that murderous fiend could have been the same as his lover in the first place. He felt safe now to say that the burning and killing were Ner'zhul's doing, and somewhere out there, Sylvanas was still herself though unable to come home. Now more than ever, he was convinced that the one whom he saw Quel'dara was a contender who walked in the shape and form of the one he loved most.

"Sylvanas, please tell me what is happening! I know your voice! I know you-this is you, whom I love. Please tell me where you are!"

**_I told you, this is not the time. Wait until Elma wakes, and stay with her, _**the Dark Lady faded rapidly from his sleep, peeling her presence like a blanket off of him and leaving him exposed to the chill. **_She needs you now. Go to her. _**

"My love, please! Don't leave me!" After all he had been through in the past few days, after coming close to losing everything he had ever known, she came back into his life-his only love, and restored purpose in his existence. "Please, don't leave me now!" He sobbed like a child as he no longer felt the connection between them. "I love you, Sylvanas. Please don't go!"

"Wake up," her voice was no more than a breath as he, too, retreated from his slumber. "Listen."

* * *

"Master...Agony..." 

"...wants the daughter..."

"That is the only way..."

"...we will give Leprecha..."

As his reverie receded, he could hear a low conversation in the hallway. It was so soft, so fragmented he could make no sense of it at all. But there were two things he could be certain of, that the subject of discussion was Elma, and that the speakers were unmistakably Rue Wyena and her wayward companion.

"...Maiev..."

"Then the Master will release..."

Maiev? Maiev Shadowsong? What had become of her? Personally, Kael had lukewarm feelings about the warden, half-mad with her obsession of subduing Illidan with her power. But regardless of her state of sanity, regardless how she treated Tyrande when she knew full well she had the power to save the priestess from the undead, no one deserved to be abandoned in the mercy of crazed demons with no way home. He had an impression that Maiev was not yet powerful enough to create a portal for her own use, and therefore, she would likely still be trapped in the desolate Outland-how many years had it been since? Fifteen? Sixteen?

He got up to his feet too quickly and felt the world spin under him. He took a few seconds to steady himself, to allow the sleep enchantment to lax its grip on him. He headed towards the door-but as his hand touched the handle, he hesitated. If Sylvanas had especially warned him about the motive of those two, would it be wise of him to barge into the middle of their conspiracy? He had been prepared to fight the Black Warden before she employed her trickery. But he knew he could not take on two wardens on his own with Elma completely out of action.

As he hesitated, the conversation, too, faded as though the speakers sensed him awaken. He turned the knob and prepared to feign innocence should the two confront him. But to his surprise, no one was in view as he stepped out, as though this conversation had been a part of his withdrawing dream.

** _She needs you now. Go to her…_**

Elma. He made his way back to the room where he left Elma in the wardens' charge. Although he had no memories how he ended up in a different room himself, he was somehow sure of his way back. It must be Sylvanas, he thought gratefully, she was still with him, leading the way. Oh, this information would change everything. If that abomination that attacked his homeland was not his love, everything would be different. He could go to war in the Undercity and battle the undead with no remorse. Hope restored purpose in his existence.

But if that was not Sylvanas, where was she? Whose body did she reside in? Or was she only a wandering ghost that was robbed of a shell? What had become of her?

Elma's door was closed. He knocked at it. There was no answer-perhaps she was still asleep. Guilt haunted him as he remembered the sleeping potion she was not supposed to take. Was it too powerful? Would it have dreadful lingering effects? Oh, Lights! He swore he would not be so imprudent again. _Forgive me, Elma. I didn't know_.

He invited himself into the room. The young woman was, as he expected, still sedated. Though pain was no longer evident, her serene features were still pallid. But she would live. As soon as she woke, he would take her away from the Barrow Deeps, away from this vile prison they tricked him to enter.

He did not count the time. He sat by her bedside and waited for her to wake. When finally her eyes fluttered open, he blessed the Light, "Elma! How are you feeling?"

"I feel...so weak," she muttered when she was awake enough to speak. It was true she looked terrible, and her emerald eyes were without lustre.

"That's all right," he attempted to console her, although he was so relieved his tone was almost too cheerful. "You were hurt. You lost a lot a blood, but you'll get better."

"What happened? Where are we?"

"Don't you remember? Khec-" Should he remind her? If it was not for the rider, they would not find themselves caught in such peril now. But Khecomo deserved no forgiveness, "Khec stabbed you."

"Ah," her response told him naught of if she remembered or if she was merely acknowledging his answer.

Her second question, however, was something he did not have the courage to tell her. He digressed from it, "Are you in pain? Do you feel unwell?" He needed to know if the sleep drug had caused her any damage before he could determine what he could do. But truly, even if he managed to take her away from the Barrow Deeps, he had no idea where they could turn to for help. He was hesitant about seeking Illidan out. Thirteen years ago when they parted, he could have laid his life down for Illidan's innocence, that the rogue would never think to hurt the priestess. But in thirteen years, many things could have changed. A blameless child could have been transformed into a blood-lusty sorceress. He dared not trust to hope.

"I just feel...limp," she replied, "and dizzy. But nothing hurts."

"All right then. I think you just need some more sleep," he brushed back ebony curls that fell in front of her face.

"I'm sorry, Kael," she whispered.

He paused and trained his eyes upon her in surprise as tears began to flow down her cheeks and dampened the sheets. "What for?" He was so taken aback by her reaction he was unsure what to say or do, "Dear, if anyone, it is I who should be sorry. I had not disciplined my rider enough…"

"It was not him. It was Ner'zhul," she argued, beginning to raise her voice, although her strength soon failed her. "My talent in the dark arts would have allowed me to sense Khecomo before he lifted his hand. But I felt nothing until when he plunged that blade into me. I sensed the same magic-a flicker of telekinesis that momentarily blinded all my senses. The rider couldn't have done that."

"Ner'zhul? You must tell me more. Didn't you already destroy him? Is he alive or is he not?" Had the lich king as he came to know him ever been anything else but dead? Kael forced himself to stop asking questions. The young woman was in no shape to answer. She needed rest. He ought to wait. Even if she could explain everything, that would change nothing.

"I've tried to tell you…I've tried, but I can't," she did not wipe her tears. "That night when you asked me what happened to Sylvanas…" Suddenly, she became so angry, her pallid face brought to life only by rage and hatred. It was at that moment when he doubted her sanity, and his own, "I can't tell you anything. I've forgotten it all! Can't tell you even if you torture me. You should have let me die instead! I hate you, Kael! Leave me!"

** _Never let her out of your sight..._**_Ah! Sylvanas, thank you for the warning. _Never had he seen Elma so distraught, so tired and vulnerable, he did not know how else he could comfort her save to silently sympathize with the child who was tormented by the lich king time and again. All he could do was to repeat a promise and hold her in his arms as she shrieked and fought him, "I won't leave you. I won't leave you."

But eventually she gave in to her own exhaustion, unable to keep up her stamina. She went completely slack, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow, he thought for a moment she had dropped back to sleep.

"I can't tell you anything," but she whisper, hauntingly. She was a child so broken in his arms he would have given anything to keep her safe.

"That's all right, Elma. It's all right," he rocked her gently in his embrace, gently, until she ceased sobbing, "You don't have to. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

"I'm a terrible person," she breathed. "I am a liar, a thief, a murderer. I have not spoken a word of truth since we met." Hollow laughter touched her voice, "But you are so good, you believe me even when your rider deciphers my blatant lies. Go away!" She wriggled out of his arms, "I don't want your pity!"

"No, Elma. You are only misguided." He released her, but a wound had been ripped open. His words sounded empty even to his own ears. By the Light-_not a word of truth_? Would she be lying now, too? Was this a false declaration to add to her collection of self-pity? But surely not! He remembered their first real conversation since he discovered her true identity. The injury of Ner'zhul's betrayal was still so vivid, the pain so real. Unless she truly was a gifted actress, he could not imagine how she could fake it if she had not lived it. He was tempted to believe this was her delirium speaking, this was the sleeping draught.

"Damn you! Leave me!" but her outburst stunned him again. "Curse you! Curse you! Get away from me! You failed me, remember? Leave! You think you could have gotten back that little girl you lost to Ner'zhul? It's too late! She's already dead!"

He wanted to leave-he ached to leave. Yes, yes, these words she spoke now were true. He failed to rescue her thirteen years ago, and after all these years of hiding and denial, he should have expected no possibility of redemption now. Ner'zhul had tortured her, cursed her, twisted her, and she would never be the same again. This eruption of hers told him everything he feared to know. The cruel sorceress, the one known as Leprecha was but an inhuman façade she learned to put on. All that was left of Alanen's daughter was this defenceless, crippled girl, broken in body and spirit beyond repair. She could never heal. This was all she would ever be.

He lowered his head. He could never look at her again without shame, "I can't ask you to forgive me. I don't have a right. But I'm sorry. I will do everything I can to keep you safe. I will fight Ner'zhul and make sure he can never hurt you again."

Suddenly, the mask returned to her, the disguise that went by the name of Leprecha. She smiled a mirthless smile, "Are you really so daft, Kael? Or did you think that your patience and attention would change things between us? Haven't you guessed by now? Haven't you guessed who tortured your beloved Sylvanas, who inflicted the final blow?"

Kael got up to his feet abruptly and staggered backwards. No. This was too much. No! She could not be right in the mind. The wardens must have done something to her. Yet no matter how he denied it, or how he attempted to search for another explanation, he knew she was telling the truth this time. Sylvanas, his love, his life, was slain in the hands of the very same child he could not rescue. He had failed them both-and this was what Ner'zhul wanted all along.

"Not only have I destroyed her body, I have shattered her soul-hers, and Ner'zhul's," the blood leprechaun continued, her tone crueller and harder than before-was this the same voice, the same expression Sylvanas saw before her death? "I will never forgive you, Kael. I turned into this demon because _you_ gave up on me!"

No! He wished he had the words to tell her what he dreamed of just then-how real Sylvanas had been in his vision! But his certainty slipped from him. His lover's soul was shattered, and her returning could only have been his own wishful thinking. An illusion, nothing more.

"Leave me-why are you still standing there like a dolt! Leave! Go and rot, you idiot!"

He did not wait until she was done throwing her insults at him. All of a sudden, all light had been snuffed out from his world again as he realized the sorceress was right. All his miserable attempts at amendments would change nothing between them. Elma would still have been abandoned, and the demon called Leprecha would still have murdered Sylvanas and destroyed both their souls. Oh, could he believe Fate could be so brutal! He fled down the hallway, blind from the darkness that invaded his soul. He could not hear as Elma thrashed and screamed to fight the ghost of Ner'zhul that tightened his grip around her will.

* * *

**A/N / Teaser: **

A big 'uh-oh' and confusing dilemma for our heroes!

Of course, many questions press for answers now-just who the hell are the stinking liars? Is our Illidan an overbearing villain who has Tyrande under his control now, or is that just bull? Where-or more specifically, who-is Sylvanas? Has Nerz been controlling Elma all along? What are Davita and Wyena gonna do to Elma and how does that all connect to Maiev, really? Ah, and is it just you, or did I say Nerz whacked off Elma's arm?

Enough cliff-hangers to keep you guys cursing me for another two months, nya?

* * *

**WingchumonZero**: Thanks, and huggles to ya. I think you're the first person to say that you like Khec. Personally, I do believe every story needs an archetype of an impulsive, unguarded and trouble-prone person who at first annoys the hell out of everybody but is later found to be the one true friend. Rest assured, as I just gave out another spoiler, that nothing really bad will happen to Khec. 

**Inamm07**: Thank you, thank you. Indeed I won't just let Nerz die, and most certainly he's plotting something foul. He and Elma have some history between them and lots of scores to settle.

**Ride4Ruin**: I'm sorry I haven't really got time/inspiration to update this for a while. Thank you for your patience.

**Crimson Paladin: **Thanks-I know, I know. We're taking forever to get there, but now that our heroes are finally in Kalimdor, we've made a huge leap, haven't we? Things should be moving along now, Elune willing, smoothly.

**Li Katsuya: **Yeah, Kael's party is falling apart-and we know it's not fun if they band together until they all die, right? Thanks for reading.

**Demongod86: **Thank you. Things really aren't that complicated once Kael makes up his mind to hear Elma out. You got the part right about Davita's involvement, but it's not Khec. Anyway, I don't think I will be publishing original fiction online, unless I am convinced by far too many rejection letters from the publishers.

**arthus**Thanks for your support.

**Azzandra**: Thank you. I AM a scary woman, in case you haven't noticed. Nerz absolutely will have a larger role to play in this story. After all, we can't let this archvillain just disappear out of the picture.

**Trevor X: **Because the lich king finds it fun to mess up other people's lives after death...! You're still the record holder for sympathizing with the characters in this story. Thanks for your sympathy and support!

**I)void**: Thanks! Of course, of course, a way to keep Kael from stopping Sylvanas would be to break apart his already pretty fragile party!

**Elven-King-R**: Thanks. is amazingly slow sometimes and has the habit of being down every two days for the past month. No! Don't run yet lest you get hurt-ah, too late.


	15. Tried

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**A/N**: And so, the Naga queen returns...it's only a couple days before she has to leave Canada and she's currently packing her things and getting mildly hooked to the 1966 Star Trek series (funny and lame as hell at the same time--I wonder how they did that, lol!). This is a short update, but an update nonetheless to let you know I am still alive though barely making it.

* * *

_But if there was a single truth, a single light_  
_A single thought, a singular touch of grace_  
_ Then following this single point, this single flame_  
_ The single haunted memory of your face_

**-Sting, "A Thousand Years"**

* * *

**PRE-CHAPTER ELEVEN: TRIED**

**(ASHENVALE, 12 DAYS AFTER TIANITHAN'S BIRTH)**

Tyrande Whisperwind closed her eyes and turned away from the darkening twilight. The moon had yet to rise, and the stars had not begun to burn. But daylight was almost gone, leaving the air frigid and empty.

She never thought Illidan would return.

The last time they parted in Lordaeron, he made it as though it would be permanent. He saved her life and made peace with his brother. He atoned for his sins and left her with a bitter hollowness that could only be filled by her forgiveness.

Then, a few months later, she heard Furion cry in his dreams. He envisioned Frostmourne pierced his twin's body and twisted the demon soul as if it was his own. Tyrande sat through three evenings as her mate flailed and moaned in his delirium, sobbing and screaming his brother's name. All she could do was to pray to the Mother Moon that she might do something to ease Furion's pain. When the archdruid finally woke from his trance again, he seemed so fatigue and distraught as though a part of him had died with his brother. But he weakly gathered Tyrande into his arms and whispered that perhaps it was better that way and he need not grieve for his brother's corruption any longer.

Yet four long years past since then, Illidan returned, changed, matured. He came in peace with an infant in his arms--the offspring of Kael'thas and Sylvanas. He meant only to leave the child with Furion and be on his way, but Tyrande asked him--on a whim--to stay.

She felt silly.

How could it be that she had come to care when for the most of her life she had not even cast a thought his way while he was chained in the dark? He was a sinner, a betrayer who deserved no pity. Because of him, thousands of Night Elves had died. Because of him, many acres of her sacred home were blighted with demon power. She thought she no longer hated him. She thought she had forgiven him. But seeing him again brought much turmoil to her mind. She could not decipher what her feelings for him were now, for one whom she once loved and hated and believed to be dead.

She twisted her own words when she felt Furion's baffled eyes upon her. She reasoned that since Illidan was acquainted to the infant's mother and she had trusted the child into his hands. He must go with her to Priestess Keiry who had agreed to take Tianithan into hiding. Her mate was aghast at the idea and was about to protest when she reminded him that only Elune had the right to forbid her anything.

The last time she spoke so harshly to him, she made the grave mistake of setting of setting Illidan free. Would she only be repeating her error again?

She attempted to remedy her fault by reassuring her mate, "The journey to Keiry's lodging should take no more than three days. The groves are quiet and well-guarded by my sentinels. There is really no reason at all to fear for me."

"But I do not trust--" the archdruid frowned, waving a hand as if to dismiss the idea.

Illidan who was standing further behind Tyrande crossed his arms and leaned against the bark of a tree. The priestess was almost grateful he made no comment. Rather it was Furion's lack of faith in his brother that troubled her--or was it lack of faith in her? He spoke as though he was the one who was blind to his twin standing there listening. Tyrande had to silence him before hurtful things could slip from his lips to reopen the scar Illidan tried to heal. "Furion," she took his hands in hers, though she addressed him by his name and refused to use any terms of affection. "I understand your concern for me. But I trust Illidan. When was the last time he hurt me?"

"When he forsook honour and betrayed us to Azshara. When he took up the Skull of Gul'dan and plundered his way to darkness," Furion was swift in coming up with an answer, leaving her wide-eyed in surprise. She had not expected such acid in his tone. He sounded so bitter it was almost childish. There was truth in his words, though Furion had never understood Illidan's drive to acquire more power. He did not understand that everything his brother had done was to prove himself worthy of her affection.

Tyrande shot a glance back at the former demon hunter who shrugged, an impassive expression still etched in his face. It was as though his brother had somehow convinced him of his invisibility. She hated to argue with her mate, but she could not help but hope that she could change his perspective, "But do you trust me?"

"Tyrande, you know I do!" Furion seemed alarmed, and she wondered if she had shown anger or hurt in her tone.

"I trust Illidan," she repeated. "He has never led me to harm."

Illidan allowed himself to nod, "Brother, if anything happens to Tyrande while she travels across her own homeland, you may kill me. But likely I am not the only one to blame."

Grimly, Furion agreed. He ignored his brother's sarcasm and told his mate, "All right, my heart. But do not be long. Take the two teleportation scrolls in my sanctum."

"I won't be long," she assured him before turning into his study to find the scrolls. She heard him sigh. He must have expected something more from her, perhaps a hug or a gentle farewell. But pride would not allow her to do so. Not in Illidan's presence. She knew he could not see now, and he had probably already come to terms with her decision. But she remembered what the lesson was.

The guilt would never be lifted.

* * *

They teleported to Keiry's dwelling and delivered Tianithan safely though it was a mutual accord between Tyrande and Illidan that they should walk the rest of the way back to the Moon Glade. It would give them some time alone together, which they knew they would not likely have once they return to the overprotective Furion. 

_Even if she had to bear the brunt of the archdruid's disapproval afterwards._

The enchanted forest glowed far too beautifully in the light of the moon to be ignored anyway. Tyrande reached for Illidan's hand and guided him across the River Kisei.

Her frostsabre tiger led the way, searching for safe paths to cross the brook that ran through the heart of the forest. Though tamed by Elune's grace, moonlight glinting off the surface of the river did not reflect the traitorous depths of the water. The steed hopped over large boulders that paved a way to the other side.

The two night elves followed without a sound.

The hem of Tyrande's silver cleric robes trailed over the moon-blessed waters. She shivered slightly at the unexpected chill at her heels. Purple blossoms floated from the trees as gently as feathers, their moist petals resting upon the priestess's shoulders. She shrugged, and they fell from her, gently caressing her body. She almost wished Illidan could see. It was almost frightful to imagine what it was like to be blind. He must miss these breathtaking vistas so much.

But the tranquil expression on his face told her enough. Instead of seeing, he delighted in other senses. The scent of rich and fertile soil beneath their feet pleased him well enough, the fragrance from the flora and fauna that resided in this ancient forest. He seemed to be feeling completely at home.

Rather it was the silence between them that irked her.

She wondered if Illidan had anything to say to her--she certainly had a lot on her mind even though she could hardly find a way to put her thoughts into words. They remained wordless, until they completed halfway of their journey when they stopped to rest before dawn.

It could be but a day away before he had to be on his way again, roaming back into dark realms she would never know. She tried to pay no mind to her screaming emotions, that she both wanted and did not want him to leave. In a sense, she wished he had never returned so she would never have to survive another parting blow. Yet now that she knew he was alive and well, she could hardly bear the thought of never seeing him again.

"Tyrande."

She turned her head towards Illidan who now sat under a strong oak, his weathered features soothed by the serenity of the land around him. "This...this place feels like home."

She whispered, "It is your home."

"It is my home," he ran his fingers across the fertile forest dirt beneath him, "And yet I am not welcomed."

"I do not know what came over Furion," she breathed a sigh. "When we heard of your defeat at Icecrown, I was worried for you. He was too. 'That brother of mine,' he only said with much grief, 'I would not have to worry for him any longer'. He's rejoiced to see you again, but lately--"

"I understand," the demon hunter chuckled. It seemed that despite their reconciliation, the mutual jealousy between the brothers persisted. Well, how could it end when only one of them could lay claim to so fine a prize--Tyrande's affection?

"I prayed to Elune that you were alive after your defeat--and my prayers were answered," she went on, becoming emotional. "Oh, how I wish I could have words to express my gratitude. But I am so lacking--I do not know what to say."

He wanted to tell her it was not Elune's grace nor her prayers that brought him retained him in life, but something darker and much more unholy. But he did not. He could not bear to break her heart. Let her believe her goddess cared for one who had fallen so far such as he.

He was afraid of her inevitable questions. He was afraid she would turn away from him in horror and detestation if he told her the whole truth. He steered the conversation away, "Perhaps I have been fighting for too long. Tyrande, I grow tired of chaos and strife. But it seems as though I was born into suffering and dread."

His outburst clearly surprised her.

"Long have I fought your brother for your heart," he said and she held her breath. He knew how he unnerved her with his confessions--but he had to say it one more time. "But I will fight no more."

"Illidan..."

"Just endure me another moment, and then I shall bother you no longer," he pleaded gently, reading her mind. "I had been young and ignorant. There were times when I thought I was worthier of giving you happiness--it was foolish and selfish of me. Now that I see it does not matter. There is joy in my heart just to know you are well and you are content with the choice you've made."

It took her a few seconds to realize what he was telling her.

A smile touched upon his lips, "I learned this much--to love is to let go. I am willing to let go for your happiness. I am willing to never see you again, if that will please you. Just give me the word, and I will leave. I will swear on your own gracious name I will never return."

"Illidan..."

Suddenly, he found her clinging to him, her arms wrapped around his neck. He breathed in the first green of Eden as he fingered through her hair. He could not will his arms to move. He could not return her embrace.

"What do I do with you?" she muttered under her breath. "You...confuse me. You have changed."

"For someone given a second chance in life, I certainly have," he stopped there. He did not want her to know the years he had spent as an undead.

"It is ironic, do you not think?" she drew in a deep breath. "I had waited ten thousand years to finally be wedded to Furion. I just...if only you had told me that earlier...I would have..." words failed her. Too much guilt weighed down on her she could not bring herself to speak her mind. "I have given him my word, for those ten thousand years. You...understand?"

"Are you not happy with your decision?"

"Furion is always shy," she said softly. "He loves me, and I am certain of it. But he is also driven by other tasks. He is a responsible leader, devoted to his people. But...but when I weep for his presence, I weep alone. Ten thousand years, Illidan. I've waited for him. I still love him for who he is, but it was a long and lonely vigil."

He started to reply, but she interrupted him, "No. I curse my dissatisfaction. I am undeserving." She dislodged her arms from him, leaving Illidan once again in dissatisfaction though he dared not hope for more than he was already given.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry I don't have time to write for quite a while having been bogged down by term papers and finals and now packing and moving, but in a week or so after I get all stuff all unpacked, I'll hopefully have more time to hang out online. I'm sorry I don't have time to thank you individually this time—this doesn't mean I don't appreciate your reviews and your patience. I do love you so much, but a girl's gonna do what she's gonna do. Another thing is, I don't mean to be snide or nasty with anyone on the latest update on my bio, and the majority of you are so nice to me and supportive of my work. I'm sick of some irresponsible anonymous critiques who leave meaningless reviews.

Again, thank you so much for waiting.


	16. Dreamed

**BLOOD ****LEPRECHAUN**** by J Cae**

**PRE-CHAPTER ELEVEN (Part II): DREAMED **

* * *

Sylvanas Windrunner had a dream 

Cold sweat broke out over her body like a strange disease. She had just seen the pale radiance of a golden elf. He turned from her in fury, snuffing out all light and left her in darkness.

She tried to rise and call out to him but an invisible force held her down. Inexplicable pain tore her side. _Be still, _it said with the impatience of a girl and the knowledge of an adult. _Or we will be found out._

She could not comprehend the meaning of this dream.

She slept on.

Suddenly, she was flying across miles and miles of crimson desert. Two moons hung mournfully in the sky but they shed no brilliance upon the abandoned red world. She found herself soaring fast and faster until she realized there was a solid cliff wall in front of her. In panic, she tried to manoeuvre, but she could not. She could only wait for the smashing impact that would be her instant death.

But she penetrated right through the wall as if she was not real.

Her vision changed. Behind the wall was a labyrinth. A man stood at the centre of the maze with his arms folded in front of his chest like a foetus. His skin was hived and rugged it reminded her of the bark of a tree--except that it was dyed in blood. She ventured to gaze upon his face--a tragic sight. His eyes glowed green with unholy rage. She was horribly afraid, not because he was gruesome, but that she recognized him in all his dark glories.

It was Alanen.

Frostmourne had not destroyed his soul, not had the funeral fire ruined his body. He was staring straight into her soul. She recoiled in terror, but more in disbelief. He could not be alive. He could not be her father.

Her father? Never!

_I am Sylvanas Windrunner._

But as her soul tossed and trembled and she waited for herself to wake, she saw the tresses that spilled over her bare shoulder were ebony like the night. She tugged at her hair--yes the echoing pain at her scalp proved that it belonged to her. She must have torn something when she jerked her hand violently. The pain in her side was burning now. It was driving her mad.

The chorus of a million, a million souls began to bicker in her head. Her vision swam although it had never been lurid.

She screamed, but her voice belonged to someone else. She could not but be drowned by the intruders in her nightmare.

Alanen's apparition touched her chest with a burning claw. Her skin shrivelled and blackened and melted away to reveal her beating heart. He took it carefully in his paw as if it was a wounded dove. She saw him turn to a broken figure that hung in chains behind him.

A night elf female.

Sylvanas thought she knew her, but the Kaldorei could be no more than a fraction of her hallucination. She watched as Alanen opened the night elf's clothes. There was a hole in her chest where her heart once was. The flesh was arid and cracked like a garden that had not been watered for years. He replaced the hollow with Sylvanas's fresh heart and the dark muscle began to pulse. Blood resumed its flow along the tributaries that irrigated the parched earth. Colour returned to the night elf's deadened skin.

"I grow tired of waiting," she said suddenly. Her eyes flared up in incandescent blue. "Illidan will be mine!"

The labyrinth faded from Sylvanas's eyes. She clawed wildly to grasp onto something that she could make sense of.

_Be still, _pain's girlish voice sounded again, softly, commandingly. _You cannot move without a heart._

Sylvanas had no choice but to obey.

Then, there was blood before her eyes. Atrocity. Ashenvale lie in desecration. Crimson painted the front porch of the Moon Temple. She flew inside, the massless spirit that she was. Maiev Shadowsong led the way, and on the balcony of the second floor, she met Tyrande Whisperwind in combat.

With her impossible strength, Maiev threw Tyrande down the stairs. Before the priestess could recover, she leapt, raised her charkram to cleave out her heart--another trophy to return to her Master of Agony. Illidan appeared amid the misted shadows and roared in dreadful anguish. He bent over the corpse of his lover and kissed her many times. Tears still streamed from his sightless eyes as Maiev lopped off his head with her weapon. He could not fight her--of course not. Without Tyrande, he had no strength to live.

Then, Maiev's gaze fell upon Sylvanas as if she was surprised. "Why are you following me, child?" she asked.

"You have my heart," Sylvanas told her, unsure how she should feel to be called a 'child'. Compared to the ancient Kaldorei, she must have been no older than an infant.

Maiev shook her head in puzzlement. She held out her wrist and Sylvanas touched her gingerly, "Feel me. I have no pulse. I do not have your heart."

Then, she, too, vanished from sight.

It was Tianithan's face she was looking into now. He was an adult. He had the same blue eyes of his mother's and the same golden mane of his father's. But he was a dark sorcerer and he made playmates of his conjured black phoenixes that spurted firestorms. He was estranged from his father even before his birth but his hatred for him was great. He kissed Sylvanas's lips with taunting gentleness she did not expect from one whose soul was so thoroughly tainted, "Mother, I am going to bring you Kael'thas's ghost. I must have your blessing."

And without knowing why or what she was doing, she gave it to him.

Tianithan's image peeled away to reveal a little girl, a brunette with green eyes--perhaps of five or six human years. She had half a dimpled smile on her face.

"Who are you?" Sylvanas heard herself ask. She had only the vaguest memories of such a child.

The girl did not answer. Instead, she proffered a tiny hand. As soon as Sylvanas touched her, the girl began to bleed profusely from a cut on her left shoulder. She bled and bled and then she died.

Yet the question still ricocheted in the air.

_Who are you? _

_Who are you?_

She tried to answer it.

_I am Sylvanas Wind..._

I am Sylvan...

I am...

Suddenly, she did not know who she was anymore.

She awakened with a start and stared into the face of the sly warden named Rue Wyena.

* * *

**A/N**: A fanfic writer is allowed to have writer's blocks, homework and laziness, isn't she? Thank you for your patience and impatience. I owe you guys more than an apology. It's been very fun writing this story, and I learned a lot from the experience. I'm sorry I have left it for so long--other commitments in life have and will keep me from updating, but I might launch back into it anytime when inspiration hits me full in the face (like WoW Blood Elf leaks). 

Once again, thank you for reading. This update is very bizarre, but I got up early with a burning urge to write. I hope that does explain something of the plot.

Find me at jenvisage. deviantart . com or w w w . shatteredenigma . com.


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